


The past is never where you think you left it ...

by Ebm36



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Crying, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-04 08:39:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 90
Words: 317,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebm36/pseuds/Ebm36
Summary: “The past is never where you think you left it.” (Katherine Anne Porter)The Musketeers have to deal with King Louis' trade summit, Captain Tréville is in a bad mood and something is amiss with Athos. The Inséperables will be caught in a storm of violence and emotions as tragedy strikes. This story is set in s2, between ep. 3 et ep. 4. It's an Athos centric ff written by two authors, further notes see in ch1.





	1. 30th May 1631, Athos' room

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written by **Kirasum** and me ( **Ebm36** ). It is nearly finished (the Epilogue is still missing) and we will try to post it regularly at least one time per week.  
> We will post this story on fanfic net and AO3.
> 
> Our special and warm thanks go out to our dear beta-readers and good angels (Beth & Helensg) and to our medical consultant for several questions (nurse13) without their help, their proofreading and love for the characters this story would have never been possible.  
> All possible left mistakes are ours not theirs!  
> Please note our first language isn't English and it is our very first ff.  
> Even if it is an Athos centric ff all Musketeers will appear and members of the Court as well.
> 
> ****
> 
>  
> 
> **PLEASE, LET US KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, LEAVE US A COMMENT ! ♥♥♥**  
> 
> 
> ****
> 
> ⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜
> 
> **  
> **  
> A message from Kirasum :  
>  _"The origin of this story goes back to the very first Saturday story on the FB Page The Musketeers BBC UK. I decided to join this in order to write the short story called “A malicious plan” as a small birthday present for a friend who is writing fanfics herself. After I posted the short story on FB, I was asked by a reader to continue it._  
>  _I don’t know how, but in the end I teamed up with Emb36 to take some ideas from this short story and we changed it in a complete fanfiction. So, some elements may be known to the one or other reader._  
>  I want to say a special thanks to Emb36, because without you, I would have never even imagined or decided to write an ff and post it. Thank you for your encouragement and friendship :-)  
> During these past 4 months we put in a lot of time and passion in this story.  
> Please be kind with us, because it is our first fanfiction.  
> Enjoy! 
> 
>    
> Disclaimer: _All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors of this story. The authors are in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended._

 

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**_Friday evening (30th May 1631)_ **

  
_**Athos’ room** _

 

“Where did you meet Rochefort for the first time?”

      D’Artagnan looked with curiosity at Athos, who was sitting next to the fireplace. A fire was heating the room, drawing dark dancing shadows on his profile. He had his arms around his chest, curled forward as if the fire wasn’t enough to warm him.

      The small room was neither well nor massively furnished. A narrow bed allowed the owner to look straight at the sky night and day there was a small nightstand, a table and a few rickety chairs, just enough for the three, now four Inséparables. On the far wall opposite to the bed, an even more rickety table was used by Athos as a dressing table, or at least it should have been used, as the man wasn’t as preoccupied by his appearance as his elegant friend Aramis. Above this table were three shelves one of which supported a few richly bound books. They looked almost misplaced here, as was the beautifully crafted sword hanging above the bed. The binding of the books made of beautiful coloured and gold stamped leather shone in the dimness of the room when the orange light of the fire landed on it. If the rest of the room was dusty from floor to ceiling, these books were well-maintained and carefully aligned. No bookends but an old and heavy gilded hour-glass to steady the last book of the line. This shelf and its content made the rest of the room even more sad and gloomy. On the other shelves were a few candles, six neatly folded towels, a few pots, cups and bottles, and two candlesticks. There was a large dark wooden trunk in a corner where Athos had likely stored a few clothes and other useful belongings. Its lid was half-open which allowed the sight of a sleeve of a shirt hastily put in it , and the worn wool of a thick dark blue blanket. D’Artagnan had time to observe the room while he waited for a possible answer, discovering all the details he never had noticed before and this observation made him sad. The room looked like his owner and the owner looked like the room. How the young man would have been happy to make both more cheerful! He briefly thought that Constance could be a wonderful fairy in this place: cleaning, tidying up, removing the heavy brown curtains, adding a few lovely things like flowers or cushions … He was drawn from his daydreaming by a loud noise. Maybe a shutter. Or something falling somewhere in the garrison because of the strong winds.

      Outside, the thunder was rolling constantly. Athos had to admit that he was very glad to finally be inside his quarters. It had been raining throughout most of the exhausting day and he and D’Artagnan had gathered in his quarters to rest. It had been a boring day with stable duty and exercise.

      Athos, as usual did not speak at once. He stayed quiet and stared at the roaring flames of the fire. He felt miserable, his head was aching and his face was much too hot. He started to remove his scarf from his neck, that also kept his chest warm and threw it into the farthest corner of his room, where it landed in a heap under his bed. Next he got rid of his leather gloves which he had worn all day, his hands felt much too warm in them. With his bare chest not covered anymore, he felt slightly better, but still very vulnerable. His scarf had been a safety net for six years, protecting his broken heart.

      Poor piece of fabric! It had suffered a lot in the last five years. It had began its life as the soft but solid scarf of a country nobleman which had been given to him by his mother as a birthday present. Athos only wore it occasionally when he visited his farms or to ride in autumn or winter when the winds were too strong and cold. Anne even used it once to tie her long wavy hair as she was lounging in the grass near the pond after they had decided to have a picnic on a very hot day in July. They had been married for a month at the time …

      Athos shook his head to chase the memory away.

      Then, the scarf had literally been a part of himself. When he’d joined the Musketeers, abandoning everything of his past, the scarf had remained, as did the books, together with his grandfather’s hourglass and his father’s sword.  
Then the scarf had been badly stained during fights: blood, sweat, grass. Some of them were now indelebile and the colour of the fabric had faded.

      Recently, the poor object had been used as a glove by D’Artagnan. Athos, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, had been about to laugh at the young man’s odd action. It was so instinctive, almost childish but so brave that Athos had felt his awe of his young brother increase even more. Of course he didn’t say it out loud, but he sent him a meaningful look which only Aramis witnessed as d’Artagnan was still frozen by the short tournament-like fight.  
When the young Gascon had given it back, the scarf looked more like a cobweb or a net than a scarf so when everything had calmed down, when he had been sure that Porthos’ wound was healing properly and he had checked about Aramis’ doubts, he had decided to have it repaired. He could have asked Constance, but he would have had to explain the why, the where and the how, and it would have her worried about d’Artagnan. So, taking advantage of their last visit to _Le Louvre_ , where they all had been scolded by the King in front of Rochefort, Athos had asked an old washerwoman who was always so nice to him, if she knew about a good seamstress except Madame Bonacieux. After listening dutifully to the King’s irritating babbling, he had let the others go back to the garrison and he’d headed to the domestics’ quarters where he knew he could find her. He had been warmly welcomed by the nearly blind woman. She had even offered to repair the scarf but he had declined. The elderly domestic, with her almost white eyes and her crooked and trembling fingers, couldn’t do it and she looked already so tired so she recommended him to a widow who had a small shop on the other bank of the Seine, opposite to Le Louvre, not far from Saint-Sulpice.

      He had worn his torn scarf for two more days then he had visited the small shop. The narrow alley where it was situated was dark, the sun obviously barely managing to warm the uneven cobbles at midday. He briefly wondered how a seamstress could work without daylight. It was late this afternoon and the streets were empty. As he turned the corner of the alley, he saw someone hurrying, undoubtedly, to be home before nightfall.

      The fifty-something woman welcomed him with a small but nice smile. Ten minutes later, and with the promise that the scarf would be repaired within three days, he left the shop, a hand on his neck where the warm fabric of the scarf was already badly missed and this wet wind wouldn’t stop. Athos grunted and headed back to the garrison, head bowed, looking at the slippery cobbles under the lowered brim of his hat, careful not to fall on unidentified waste.

_Damn, I don’t need a cold right now._

      A few days later, in his dark room, and in spite of the young man’s presence, old memories came back from the time when he had not met D’Artagnan yet. Six years ago he had come to Paris both to flee his conscience and his wife who had killed his brother. Why, why couldn’t she just leave him alone? Yesterday, as he returned from the palace to the garrison, he had seen her. She was flirting with the King, laughing about one of his odd jokes and he could do nothing about it. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest at the thought of her. He felt ashamed, even now, after all those years, her beauty agitated him, even worse, aroused him. He thought he would have been over that, by now, but the other day had proved him wrong, after seeing her, he had felt like a teenager, driven by his senses, incomprehensibly aroused at the mere thought of her green irises, of the wafts of jasmine in each of her movements, at the sparkles of fire in her thick hair. Not trusting his body, the growing heat in his lower belly and the uncomfortable pressure even lower, he had tried to rush away as fast as possible but instead of returning to the Garrison, he had ended up in his favourite inn. Before he knew it, he had ordered a bottle of wine and if it hadn’t been for Porthos who had come looking for him, he probably would have stayed there the whole night. He shook himself. Why on earth had he had these sudden erotic feelings for her? He had wanted to kiss her deep red lips, touch her perfect pearly white body, pull off the beautiful silky blue dress she was wearing. His desire for her had left him in trouble much too often … Athos sighed out loud. Haunted by his past and these memories, he had wanted to flee his pain … and he somehow ended up with lots of bottles of wine and a commission as a Musketeer. But that was another story to tell.

      A knock at the door brought Athos back to the present. D’Artagnan turned his head when Aramis and Porthos entered the room. Their leather uniforms were soaked through and through with water.

“Come in and help yourself to a glass of wine”, Athos told his best friends and brothers, but noticed that every single word he spoke felt like the stab of a knife in his throat.

_I am really getting ill. Damn. Maybe another glass of wine can help me to settle my throat._

      Aramis grinned: “That sounds fair enough for me.”

      After removing his dripping coat, leaving a wet trail from the threshold to the fireplace where he hung it to dry, he settled next to D’Artagnan, touching briefly the young man's shoulder. He stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles in a very casual but elegant posture. Athos threw him a sceptical glance. How could that man seem so … so … so not like him …! Easy smile, elegance, levity, or at least an appearance of levity.

“What have you two been up to”, asked Porthos, who, after removing his jacket and just letting it carelessly drop in a soaked heap next to the door, was looking for a blanket.

      He found one and settled in the only chair that was still empty. One foot on a rung in order to form a human ball of warmth under his blanket and the other on a low stool Athos had procured him to rest his leg when he had been hurt several days before.

“I’ve just asked Athos when and where he met Rochefort for the first time, but I am still waiting for an answer.”  
“Woah, you really want to go there?”

      Porthos looked into D’Artagnan’s brown eyes. Aramis closed his eyes and prayed to God. Unconsciously he touched the crucifix that the Queen had given him months ago. This question would bring up bad memories especially as Athos had suffered under Rochefort. He wasn’t sure if that evening was the right time to tell their youngest member. The thunder rolled again in the distance and a lightning brightened the room.  
Aramis could see that Athos’ face had an unnatural reddish colour tonight. He wasn’t sure if it was from the rain and a possibility of a cold that his brother was developing or from the past the name Rochefort brought vivid memories again, or the fact that Milady was back in Paris. Maybe a bit of all these three things combined. Somehow he expected Athos to stay quiet and ignore the question, but on the contrary, Athos started to talk. If anyone could reach Athos, it was the young Gascon. Athos filled his empty glass with a new bottle of wine and started to talk very quietly, in a low and even tone of voice. His eyes fixed on something in the darkness of the room, in the darkness of his memory:  
“Rochefort wanted to become a Musketeer and several years ago he came to Treville and asked for a commission. He overestimated himself and thought that being a Comte would make him a Musketeer at once.”

_Why on earth am I talking? My voice sounds dreadful._

      He made a pause and breathed in deeply, because his lungs were missing oxygen. Even breathing seemed to be hard tonight and the dull pain in his throat increased. He took another gulp of his red wine.

“So, Rochefort was standing in the courtyard of the Garrison and shouted out loud that he wanted to see the Captain”, Aramis added. “Treville came out of his office and stepped on the balcony and stared into the courtyard. He was curious who was calling and looking for him, but as soon as he found out about the nobleman he went back inside without talking to him.”

      Porthos added: “The fool thought he could come and join the regiment that easily.”

“He was far too impulsive and arrogant and Tréville did not want to have men like him in his regiment,” Athos continued, his voice thick with a mix of emotion and anger and now staring at the fire in the hearth as if he could see the scene he was describing in its glowing blazes.. “He thought himself a hero due to the fact that he had helped Queen Anne to come to Paris several years back. So Rochefort left again and decided to join the Red Guards. That was the first time we three saw him.”

“And somehow we all knew that he meant trouble, right Athos?” Aramis added.

“What kind of trouble?”

      D’Artagnan was now eager to learn more about the man who had appeared several weeks ago. He had escaped from the Spanish imprisonment. D’Artagnan had seen the look Athos and Porthos had shared in the field as they stumbled over him. It had been a meaningful look and he had noticed the obvious disdain in Athos’ expression. Disdain confirmed by his further actions towards the blond Comte that had led Athos to punch Rochefort in his face. Porthos who just had finished his first glass of wine wanted to change the subject. He knew that Athos would be even more moody, if he had to retell and re-vive the past again.

     Hadn’t last night already been enough ?  
     He wanted to move on to a lighter topic for tonight. He could hear and see the growing anxiety in his friend’s voice, moves and looks. And something else he couldn’t really point out.

“Oh this wine is luscious. Where is it from?”

      Athos ignored Porthos’ question and stared again into the fire. His headache was bothering him even more and he felt slightly lightheaded. Should he really tell the young Gascon about his suffering? His humiliation? Athos decided not to bother d'Artagnan with that.

“Well, Rochefort started his career at the Red Guards. After he had no chance to become a Musketeer. He was angry about it. As a nobleman he thought himself very handsome and loveable. People started mocking him because he had the attitude of a peacock. As men couldn’t stand his vanity, he sought the company of women whom he thought would be an appreciative audience. He quickly became insufferable and women became anxious about his behavior. He pushed them brutally around and thought they were his possession so we had to help them more than once. ”

      Athos summarised the most important facts. For he had no strength left to tell more tonight.

“And as the gentlemen we are, of course, we helped them!” Aramis helped.

      He realised very quickly at the dark glance in Athos eyes that he did not want to tell the whole truth that evening and something else was going on in his brother’s mind. He didn’t seem to be as focused as usually. He was speaking slowly and way too silent. D’Artagnan was too tired to register that look at this moment.

“So, we found out very quickly that Rochefort was an ignorant person who denied that he was not ready to serve the King.” Porthos added with a bright smile on his lips.

“That’s all?” D’Artagnan stared at his brothers.

“Let’s say that it is the beginning of another tale, but we are all tired and we should call it a night for today.”

      With these words Athos made clear that he did not want to talk any longer about it. His green eyes wandered back to the fireplace. His headache had increased in the last few minutes, and his vision was slightly blurred. He felt suddenly dizzy, but tried to breathe even, to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. He was familiar with these betrayals of his body when he had consumed too much cheap wine in a shabby tavern. It couldn’t be the reason. Not now, not this time. No, he really had caught a cold.

      D’Artagnan had seen the hurt in those green eyes and hadn't wanted to push the confession any further. So he stood up, said goodnight to his friends and headed for his own quarters. As he made his way to the door, d'Artagnan couldn't help but look back at his mentor before leaving ... Staring at this noble profile, he could see the orange light of the roaring fire reflecting in the odd wetness in his eyes ... Athos' face seemed to shine with an abnormal brightness, much too red, a few of his silky curls were plastered on his forehead. D'Artagnan suddenly worried, made a move towards him, but didn't know if his presence would be welcomed ... The floor creaked lightly under his boot and Athos' body seemed suddenly seized by a shudder. His hands tightened on the armrests and a tremor ran through his long elegant fingers.

_Oh God, that hurts ..._

      As d'Artagnan retreated to the door, Athos lowered his head and put it in his trembling hands, elbows on his knees. The curtain of his hair hiding his anxious face to the view of his young friend. The latter chose to quietly leave the room and he silently closed the door ...

      The last thing d'Artagnan heard before he left, was Aramis getting up and checking on Athos.

“Athos, what is it? You look like you are not feeling well. Please, allow me to check on you.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

     Athos lifted his head for a short moment. It took him all the strength he had left, after suddenly feeling hot and cold at the same moment. He wasn’t sure what was going on. One moment he felt fine, the other moment he felt dreadful. His head felt like it wanted to burst, he couldn’t see clearly, and, again, he was sure that it wasn’t caused by the glass of wine he had tonight. Those headaches felt differently. His throat felt like fire. The long speech had even worsened the pain and even his precious wine had tasted odd and swallowing had become harder due to the increasing pain in his throat.

_Maybe some cold water will help to ease the pain._

      He was ripped out of his thoughts as his heart suddenly started to pound furiously and his wish for more air let him open his mouth and he started to breathe in heavily. With his last willpower he forced himself to sound as bored and neutral as possible.

“Aramis, it’s nothing. I am fine.” He paused to breathe in deeply. “Just a long day! You know that!”

      He tried to look in Aramis direction but the light of the candle burning next to Aramis, was much too bright and he squeezed his eyes shut. Aramis looked doubtfully at his friend. Athos’ definition of “fine” had never been the same as anybody else’s definition.

“I know you, my friend. And you look anything but fine, right now. Please let me at least check if you have a fever.”

      Athos wanted to get up and draw back from Aramis’ hand trying to touch his forehead. But he felt too weak and light-headed to get up. He hated to be touched there and he hated to feel vulnerable and that he could not control it. He had felt bad all day long. But he had tried to hide that from Aramis and the others. He was glad that they had stayed at the Garrison that day. To evade Aramis’ concerned look Athos tried to think of something else. He thought back fourteen hours ago, and reflected how his day had started. Soon he was carried away by the review of his miserable day.

 

_To be continued ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter as soon as possible ... please, stay with us!


	2. A miserable day

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**Friday, _Fourteen hours earlier_**

**_Garrison’s courtyard_ **

 

      Aramis looked curiously at Porthos who stood next to him during morning muster. At his side, d’Artagnan wished he had his own hat to avoid the heavy rain that dropped onto his blackish hair. Raindrops ran down his face and he shook his head like a dog to get rid of the water but it didn’t seem to help. He looked like a drowned rat, his long strands plastered on his face.

 

“Where is he?”

 

      He heard the concerned whispering voice of Aramis, speaking to Porthos. The big Musketeer wanted to answer his friend but at that moment Tréville appeared on the balcony and looked down at his Musketeers standing in the courtyard, more tired than usual and shivering. An idea crossed his mind to give all his men a day off or to tell them to take care of the stables and do weapons and light fighting training. His Lieutenant could organise this and help him to divide the Musketeers in groups. Maybe they could even make a small challenge to brighten the mood a little. The ongoing rain pulled on everybody’s nerves. He already wanted to give his orders, as a thought hit him: something was wrong. He checked the lines of the soaked hats with just one wet bare head: D’Artagnan _\- God! This boy needs a hat_ \- and also noticed that one of his soldiers was missing.

 

 _Athos_ , he groaned inwardly, _where are you?_ To make sure that his eyes had not betrayed him, he looked into the direction of d’Artagnan. Next to his youngest soldier were Porthos and Aramis, but not Athos. Another look at Aramis’ eyes and he could tell that the man was as confused and worried as himself.

 

      He hastened to give his orders to clear the stables and then shouted:

 

“Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan, to me, now!”

 

Aramis looked at Porthos and then at d’Artagnan.

 

“Please, tell me, you know where he is, because Tréville is going to kill him and then us.”

 

“Now, my office!” An angry Tréville repeated and without waiting any longer he stormed back into his office.

 

      Porthos looked at both his friends.

 

“I think I know, where we can find him and we should go easy on him.”

 

“Why? What happened?” asked d’Artagnan as he followed his two brothers up the stairs to the balcony Tréville had left only a few seconds before them.

 

“Let’s say that Athos bumped into his wife yesterday at the palace and afterwards he ended up in his favourite inn.”

 

“Milady’s return hurts him more than he wants to let us know!” Aramis said understandingly.

 

“So what shall we tell Tréville?”

 

“That he has caught a stupid cold and he asked us to let him sleep a little longer this morning and to excuse him.” D’Artagnan helped.

 

“Do you really think the Captain will believe this story?” Aramis looked at their youngest team member.

 

“I doubt it.” Porthos shrugged. “He knows Athos much too well, but he will give us time to check on him and drag him into the courtyard.”

 

      Porthos smiled at both of his brothers.

 

“Let’s give it a try.”

 

      With this said they reached the Captain’s office. Well aware that in the next five minutes they would be shouted at.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

      Athos woke with a start. He opened his eyes, only to shut them at the very next moment. His head was throbbing. He tried to remember why and it took him several minutes to register that he was in his room in the garrison. It was still dark outside, so he hoped he had not yet missed morning muster. Slowly he opened his eyes again. That was better. His eyes took a while to get used to the muted light. Slowly, very slowly he remembered what had happened the night before.

 

“No, no, no, not my boots, Athos!” Porthos had shouted at him.

 

       But it had already been too late. Athos had doubled over, landed on the dirty and muddy wet street of Paris, outside the inn, and had vomited the contents of his stomach on Porthos’ freshly polished boots. It wouldn’t have amazed him, if Porthos had left him right there but his big brother had bent down next to him, had wiped his face and softly asked if he was ready to continue. No blame at all, no hatred in his voice, Porthos’ big heart had already forgiven him his miserable state. Feeling dizzy he had tried to stand up, but it was Porthos who had helped him up, settling behind him and putting both of his hands under his armpits and pulling him up into a vertical position. Then Porthos had taken his right arm over his shoulder and half carried him all the way back to the garrison. Twice he had doubled over after the first one, and each time Porthos was there, waiting until his sickness was over and then continued with him through the heavy rain. Both Musketeers had been soaked through when they finally arrived at the gates of their home. How he had ended up in his room, he could not remember. Porthos had not once complained but he was sure his still not fully healed leg must have hurt him in the process of helping his drunk brother.  

 

      Suddenly the sick feeling hit him again. Athos managed to get up out of his bed and reach the wooden bucket he used to cure a hangover but he had no time to put his aching head in the cold water and he heaved into the bucket. His stomach was empty and all that came up was saliva. He tried to get his breathing settled again and sat down on the cold tiles of his floor. He felt a dull pain in this lower belly.

 

_No way  will I make it to morning muster!_

 

      He just wanted to get back onto his shaky feet and back to his bed when a knock at his door stopped him. He sat down again on the cold floor.

 

“Who is it?” He croaked.

 

      His throat hurt probably from the dry heaving. Instead of an answer, his door was opened and three pairs of eyes looked at his poor figure on the floor.

 

      Aramis was the first to react. With fast steps he crouched next to his brother.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

       Athos ignored Aramis’ question and tried to stand up. Together with Porthos and d’Artagnan’s help, they managed to get Athos back to his bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, showing no intentions of lying down again and instead he began to look for his boots. He found them neatly arranged next to the foot of his bed. He did not remember putting them there so ignoring the dull pain in his stomach and shaking from dizziness, he got up again.

 

“Wooaah! Where are you going?” A concerned Porthos pushed Athos back on his bed.

 

      Athos looked at him confused.

 

“What do you mean? Where am I going? Morning muster will soon begin, and I need to put on my boots.”

 

      He tried to free himself from Porthos’ hand still resting on his shoulder and tried to stand up again. But Porthos’ grip was hard to escape. D’Artagnan who had watched from the distance, crossed the room, picked up Athos’ boots and positioned them in front of his feet, in Athos’ line of sight.

 

“My friend, I am sure you can pull your boots on, but I guess morning muster will be a problem.”

 

“Why? Athos started angrily. “Just, because of a hangover, I will not neglect my duty!”

 

“Nobody said that you will neglect your duty. It’s just …”

 

“It’s what, Aramis?”

 

“Well, morning muster was thirty minutes ago. You have overslept.”

 

      He could see Athos’ disbelief in his eyes. _How,_ he asked himself, _could this have happened to him?_ He was never late. Even if he had drunk the night before, he always managed to be there in time.

 

“Enough jokes, Aramis!” Athos said a bit too loud. “Let’s go!”

 

      With these words he put on his boots hastily. Ignoring the still throbbing pain in his head and the tremors in his fingers.

 

“We are not joking!” Porthos told him. “But don’t worry we excused you to the Captain.”

 

_Well at least we tried. Aramis mentioning Milady to the Captain, somehow managed to cool his angry mood down. He even told us to go easy with Athos the next few days. Our Captain still has a weakness for his Lieutenant._

 

      Somehow Athos doubted that. He already expected Tréville to shout at him and let him do the stable duty all alone for the next two weeks.

 

“What have you told him?” Athos inquired his friends.

 

“That you have developed a nasty cold due to the rainy weather and that you have asked us to excuse you for morning muster, to rest a bit longer, but that you would help with the duties that are expected later.” Aramis told him.

 

      Athos rolled his eyes in Aramis’ direction:

 

“Always the medic! And he believed you?”

 

“Well, he will, when he sees you. Judging by the fact you have overslept my dear friend and finding you this morning on the floor, I think that you are showing early signs of a cold.”

      Aramis had moved closer to his friend in the past few minutes. Well aware that Athos would have not wanted to be checked out  he observed him from the distance, to find out if his friend was going to be sick. His friend’s face was slightly reddish, his voice was harsh and his green eyes where shining a little so Aramis assumed that his friend had a slight fever.

 

“Why don’t you lie down a little longer and we will bring you some tea and breakfast? Tréville advised us to check on you and make sure that you are going to eat something.”

 

      Athos shook his head:

“No way am I going to stay in this room, I need to do something and I can’t sleep all day long, can I? ”

 

      Aramis sighed, somehow he knew that the stubborn swordsman would say something like that.

 

“Don’t tell me later that I didn’t tell you!”

 

      With these words. Aramis went to the door.

 

“Okay, then breakfast in the mess, because our bench is wet. There, we will fill you in about the duties of the day.

 

      Athos followed his three friends out of his room.

 

_Ah, me having a cold. No, that was all Milady’s doing! Ending up in this filthy tavern yesterday. Oh, I have to apologize to Porthos, but not in front of the lad. Later ..._

 

      Athos tried to follow the fast steps of his brothers towards the kitchen. Porthos, who still was not one hundred percent fit, waited for his brother, as they climbed the stairs.

From the distance Tréville watched his _Inséparables_ enter Serge’s kitchen.

 

 _Thank God he is up,_ he sighed.

 

      He had a strange feeling that something bad was going to happen.

 

 _Nonsense,_ he told himself and returned to his boring paperwork.

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

      Athos did not feel hungry even though Serge had put one plate after another in front of him.

 

“You boys must eat! Especially in this cold and wet weather!” He advised.

 

      Porthos laughed out loud and was busy eating a fresh baked and still warm piece of bread. D’Artagnan was happy not to have to hurry with the stable duty and Aramis was still studying Athos’ behaviour, but said nothing. The swordsman suddenly felt very thirsty and was glad to find a pitcher of fresh water next to him. Greedily, he filled his first cup and drank it in a rush.

 

_Oh it tastes delicious._

 

      He hurried to pour himself a second and a third cup, until the jar was finally empty. In the meantime d’Artagnan filled his mentor in on the duties of the day.

 

“In the morning, stable duty and in the afternoon practicing with sword and muskets. Then in the evening we will have a little contest and the winner is allowed to have the next day off.”

 

      Aramis grinned into Athos’ direction:

 

“Now, that’s the idea, if you’re better than me in musket shooting, you can sleep in tomorrow morning!”    Athos groaned.

 

      He knew it would come, he had waited for Aramis teasing a little earlier. That he had waited that long, was unusual for him.

 

“I think we have waited long enough! Let’s get started with our work.” Athos ordered his three brothers getting up a little too fast.

 

      He nearly collapsed and needed both his hands back on the table to steady himself. The dizziness had returned and he had to blink several times to clear his vision. He felt a dull throbbing in his head. D’Artagnan was suddenly standing next to him, but did not say a word, nor made a move. Nevertheless he could see that he had raised his hands in case he should need help. Athos tried to ignore both the looks of his concerned brothers and the pain that had befallen his body.

 

“Let’s go, d'Artagnan. We will both take care of our horses and Aramis and Porthos will find out who will lead the fighting exercise in the afternoon.

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“What?”

 

      Aramis could see that Porthos was thinking hard about something. He was still sitting with him at their table in the mess, while the rain was continued to pour outside.

 

“I should have helped d’Artagnan with the horses and Athos should be here with you, Aramis. Here in the warmth, resting with you. He didn’t look that good this morning. Wasn’t that the idea of the Captain, to let him rest a little in order to work out what kind of tournament we shall have that afternoon! He is better than me in strategical thinking and …”

      Porthos grumbled angrily until Aramis interrupted him.

 

“Stop it, Porthos! We both know that your leg is still hurting and needs rest. I guess that it must have hurt horribly, as you carried Athos yesterday night all alone to his apartments, I should check on it and put on a salve!”

 

“Rubbish! It’s nothing, only some a small itching. I need to practice it.”

 

      Aramis sighed. Sometimes both his brothers could be very stubborn and ignore pain when it came to their own sanity.

 

“Besides, I think our dearest friend has a bad conscience that you had to help him home yesterday. He knows that your leg still needs rest. That’s why he acted like that. And … he can’t stand being checked over by me.”

 

      Aramis knew Athos too well.   

 

“Do you think it is just a hangover or does he have a cold?”

 

“I think it is too early to say. He’s still suffering because Milady has returned to Paris, remember the last time they met, he told her to leave and never return. Otherwise he would kill her. And now she is back and the King has forgiven her all her misconducts. So she stands under his protection. And Athos  can’t do anything about it, so maybe it is just that. Overtired, hungover and hurt.”

 

      Porthos looked sadly at Aramis’  explanation.

 

“I wish I could somehow take all this unnecessary pain away from him.”

 

“Give him time Porthos. All we can do right now is to be there for him and you  already did that last night, remember!”

 

      Porthos nodded in agreement.

 

“Let’s focus on planning this tournament. The faster we are finished, the sooner we can check on Athos and help them both with the stable duty!” Aramis clapped Porthos shoulder.

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

      D’Artagnan could see that Athos was everything but fine and yet  the swordsman had made it clear more than once that he did not want to talk about it and the Gascon wanted to respect his mentor’s wishes. So what could he do?

 

      He decided to take over the  heavier work and worked harder than he probably would have under other circumstances. As a son of a farmer he was practiced in stable work and other Musketeers already had begun to bring in the hay.

 

“Well, Athos, if it is fine with you, I will clean the boxes and you can give the horses some carrots and fresh water to eat and drink. I am sure that Pierre and Henri can help with getting us the buckets of water in here.”

 

      With this said, d’Artagnan started to clean the first box. It was Aramis horse’s box. Athos was glad that he was taking care of the feeding, he went to the back of the stables where Serge always put some carrots in a crate for their four-legged friends. It took him longer than usual to cross the long stable and he had to rest as he reached the crate. Some sweat was forming on his forehead and chest. He had to lean against the wall, closing his eyes and concentrating on the feeling of his wet palms under his gloves and of his forehead on the uneven stones.

 

_Why on earth, was I that stupid the other day to end up in that tavern._

 

      Athos wiped with his shirtsleeve the moisture of his face and did the same by massaging his hands over his chest that was covered by a fresh shirt.

 

      He then collected several carrots for their four horses and started to make his way back to the boxes situated in the opposite direction. Suddenly he felt dizzy and unstable and  before he knew what had happened, he stumbled over his own feet. The carrots he was carrying fell onto the floor and he ended up on two hay bales that stopped him from collapsing on the hard floor. For a moment Athos felt confused,his hands were very cold, he felt a short but dull pain in his chest that went away very quickly as he breathed in, panting slightly.

 

 _Today is not my day._  

 

      Athos sighed, that was the  second time he had ended up on the floor today - if he did not count the incident of the night. He could imagine more pleasant things. Exhausted, he sat on one of the hay bales and gathered his strength again. Some straws must have slid under his shirt, because he felt an itch near the sternum, which he absent-mindedly started to scratch. His skin was much  too fragile for a man’s skin, moreover, a Musketeer’s skin!

 

      In the distance he could hear voices. Porthos’ voice he could hear from miles away. He hurried to scramble to his feet, gathered the carrots and made his way slowly and carefully back to his friends. He was glad that none of the others had noticed the little incident. Otherwise he would have already found himself in the sometimes irritating care of the mother hen Aramis.

 

“Let me help you!” Aramis smiled at Athos as he saw him coming.

 

      Aramis wasn’t pleased to see his brother moving so slow and his breathing did not sound good.

 

“Rest and drink more water!”

 

      He took the carrots out of Athos’ arms, pressed him on another hay bale and motioned to Porthos to fetch some more water.

 

“I don’t need water!”

 

     Athos tried to fight Aramis’ caring by trying to send him his most terrifying stare which ended in a tired frown.

 

“You look exhausted. The cold water will do you good!”

 

      Porthos returned with a bottle filled with icy water. Athos thanked him and eagerly drank the whole bottle in one go. Aramis and Porthos exchanged worried glances. At that moment the bell from the mess rang for lunchtime.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

Athos skipped lunch and headed for his quarters instead. He wasn’t hungry, he had refilled the water bottle at the well in the courtyard and was taking now the last gulp. The water helped him to cool his slightly swollen throat. He had laid down on his bed in order to take a short nap. Exhausted, he closed his eyes and rested for a while. A knock at the door woke him up again. He had fallen asleep.

 

“Athos? Can I come in?”

 

Suddenly the swordsman was wide awake.

 

“Of course!” He answered and tried to sit up.

 

_Damn I must have overslept again._

 

     

 

“I noticed that you hadn’t been there for lunch, so I thought I should come and visit you. Aramis said that you have a cold?”

 

“Come in, please!” Athos waved his Captain to the chair next to his bed. “I think I am only a bit overtired, maybe a slight cold, but nothing severe.” Nervously, he scratched his chest, while looking at his Captain.

 

“Then you should rest the whole afternoon, Athos!”

 

“It’s alright, I have just rested a little and I feel refreshed enough to help with the tournament!”

 

“Are you sure?” Tréville somehow doubted every single word that he had just heard from Athos.

 

“I am fine, Captain!”

 

_Fine, You don’t look fine, my son._

 

“I will tell you what, Aramis will check on you and if he says you are alright, I am fine with you helping with the tournament, but if not, you are going to rest in your quarters. Understood?”

 

“Yes, Captain!”

With this said, a worried Tréville left his swordsman and went looking for Aramis.


	3. Aramis, I promise you, I am fine ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your nice comments. They are much appreciated and they encourage us to continue writing and posting.
> 
> ♥♥♥

 

      Aramis was not happy to see Athos standing next to Porthos under the balcony watching the tournament starting. He had wanted to check on him, but Athos had declined.

 

“Really Aramis, I promise you, I am fine!”

 

_Fine? How much he hated it, when Athos used this word. In ninety-nine out of one hundred cases he was not fine then._

 

      But he let it go. Knowing too well that his brother was too stubborn and this way at least, he could keep an eye on him. The tournament had three challenges: First, pistol shooting, second, sword fighting and third, hand to hand combat.

      Tréville watched his men from the balcony. The rain had stopped and a few sun rays made their way through the clouds. They had drawn lots. Each Musketeer had a partner he had to beat in one category. The Musketeers who won could move on to the next round. Through lots they found out about their new partners. Aramis had already won against three other Musketeers, before Porthos was his next adversary. Of course Aramis was better than him, but Porthos had not expected anything less. Worriedly he looked for Athos, who was now sitting on the wooden bench next to d'Artagnan. Athos had lost his first round. Normally he was a good shooter. So he was a bit surprised, even more surprised to see the young Gascon sitting next to him. What had happened? D’Artagnan had seen Athos failing with his first shot, as the swordsman had tried to aim, his hand had shook slightly and he did not even hit the target. Confused about what he had just witnessed, d'Artagnan had followed his heart and not his head. Lacking in concentration he had also missed his aim, Porthos went over to them and sat down on the bench.

 

“Naahhh, why are we doing this? We already know who is going to win this contest.”

 

      Athos grinned a little.

 

“Well, I guess it is good for our womanizer to accept from time to time our reassurance that he is a Musketeer too.”

 

      D’Artagnan laughed out loud and Porthos laughed at Athos’ dry joke. Irritatedly Aramis looked over at them hearing them laughing and missed his aim.

 

_Not again. I really have to practice that, when I want to shoot. I have to ignore any sign of distraction._

 

      Aramis’ distraction by a crying baby had caused the skirmish which led to Porthos being injured, this naturally weighed heavily on Aramis’ conscience. This time he lost against Jean-Pierre. Puzzled he looked at the aim, then at his gun. Then he blinked away the thought he just had and said:

 

“Jean-Pierre, today is your lucky day. I guess this gun is a little bit rusty.”

 

      Porthos couldn’t stop laughing, he got up and went over to Aramis. With his right hand he slapped Aramis on his back.

 

“Oh, Aramis, don’t blame your gun for not hitting the aim today. Even you, can be beaten  from time to time!”

 

      He let out another roar of loud laughter. Athos had watched the whole procedure without concentrating. His headache had returned and his throat was still hurting and he was still very thirsty. He drank another cup of water from the well. Sitting on the bench was relaxing and he soon felt better.

       Next was sword fighting and as fate would have it, he and d'Artagnan had to fight against each other. D’Artagnan was standing next to him and both of them started a good fight. Athos let d'Artagnan attack first and countered his move with a skilled trick. D’Artagnan had to withdraw and now it was Athos who went over into attack mode. The Gascon had to retreat yet more to avoid being hit by Athos’s sword.

 

“Remember head over heart!” He heard Athos saying softly as d'Artagnan withdrew further. “Concentrate where you want to attack me and don’t let your guard down!”

 

      Athos felt in his element, teaching his protégé some new tricks felt good. It was the first positive occasion for him that day. D’Artagnan was following Athos’ advice and changed the speed of his attacks, because he had noticed that Athos was a bit slower than usual. Forgetting that his mentor had not felt good that morning, he challenged the older man. Athos was taken by surprise as d'Artagnan made his first attack and nearly hit his left arm. Now it was Athos who was retreating.

       From the sideline, Aramis was watching the spectacle with a doubtful glance. All the other Musketeers who were not fighting at the same moment had gathered around them and watched their fight. Athos was the best swordsman of the regiment and watching him was always a highlight and they hoped to learn some new tricks.

      The Lieutenant now took another step back. Feverishly he decided to answer the Gascon’s attack with some quick strikes following the defensive attacks. D’Artagnan did not see that coming and nearly lost his sword. Withdrawing he gathered himself, he knew that in the next round, Athos would have him. It was always like that. He tried to figure out what the next steps of his mentor could be. Enquiringly, he looked into his face and was driven back. Sweat was dripping from Athos’ face. He had never seen that on Athos’ face, while fighting with him. His pale face was reddish and his eyes were shiny and d'Artagnan suddenly felt very guilty. He should have known better that Athos was unwell. He already wanted to find a diplomatic way to end their duel as Athos launched his next attack. Taken by surprise d’Artagnan raised his sword to parry the strike.

 

“What have I told you …. d’Artagnan … concentrate! Never ... let down … your … guard.”

 

      Athos was panting heavily and trying to catch his breath. Suddenly he felt very dizzy. He could only see a blurred picture of d'Artagnan, even though he was only three steps away from him. The worst was his heart hammering much too quickly  in his chest.

    Surprised, he took a few unsecure steps backwards, nearly losing his sword. He felt a sharp pain in his chest which took him by surprise and he fell. Dizziness hit him and he  tried to catch himself, but it was too late.

“Arghhhh …!”      

 

      Another stab of pain hit him and made him shout. The next thing he realised was that he was tripping over a stone on the wet ground. First his sword fell down to the earth and clattered in front of d'Artagnan’s feet, followed only seconds later by Athos, who passed out next to his sword. His face first, he landed on the heavy ground and did not move. D’Artagnan looked in horror at his fallen mentor. A murmur went through the ranks of the other Musketeers watching him fall. Aramis was the first one who responded, followed by d'Artagnan who had pulled himself together again. Aramis bent down over his brother and turned him over. There was a slight bloody scratch on Athos’ cheek, where his head had made contact with the hard ground. His eyes were opened but unfocused and he looked confused in the medic’s eyes.

 

_What has just happened? I must have stumbled over a stone or slipped on  this muddy floor. My chest hurts. My face. Argggh … my head ..._

 

      Athos slowly recognised that lots of Musketeers must have just witnessed his fall. He felt hot and cold at the same time, as he realised that he was still lying flat on the wet ground. He felt ashamed and wished to be far far away right now. He felt Aramis’ hand on his back which floored him a bit. His heart was still hammering much too quickly and he was panting for air, as Aramis turned him over into a foetal position.   

 

“Get back to your exercises!” A loud voice thundered from the balcony. “There is nothing to watch!”

 

      The voice was much too loud for Athos’ feeling and he squeezed his eyes shut. Yet he appreciated the order, because then it was only d'Artagnan and Aramis who were with him. Porthos who had been busy with swordplay against another Musketeer now moved over to them while Tréville hurried down the stairs from the balcony into the courtyard stopping at the last step of the stairs.

 

“Damn … stone!” Athos muttered to Aramis and d'Artagnan. “... must ... have ... slipped.”

 

      He made a first attempt to get up. But Aramis pushed him down again.

 

“Stay down and let me check on you first!”

 

      Aramis tried to calm Athos. But Athos knew that in less than a minute Tréville would be standing in front of him and his pride was still strong enough to not let his commanding officer see him still lying on the courtyard. This was humiliating.

 

“Help me up!” He growled at Aramis. “I am fine! Just that stupid slippery wet ground!”

 

      He made a second attempt to get up and felt a supporting hand in his, as Porthos pulled him gently back on his feet. Followed by Aramis’ critical stare in Porthos’ direction.

 

“Woahh, what happened to you?” Porthos voice was sounding irritated and worried at the same time.

 

“Nothing, just a slippery floor. I don’t like this weather!”

 

      He started to tap his wet and muddy clothes.

 

“Come! Let’s go over to the bench.”

 

      Porthos led his slightly shaken brother to the wooden bench, where Athos sat down groggily still panting for air. D’Artagnan, not sure of what else he could do handed him a cup of water. While Aramis took his bright-blue fabric that he was wearing around his hip. He dripped some cool water on it and pressed it onto Athos’ cheek. Then he started to clean his bloody face. Athos ignored Aramis fussing over him. He was even thankful for his help. Greedily Athos drank and tried to settle his nerves. He put down the cup and reached his right hand to d'Artagnan as Aramis had removed the fabric from his face.

 

“Congratulations! You have beaten me today!” He grinned weakly in his protégé’s direction.

 

_One day he will be the best of us all!_

 

      Athos remembered the words he had said to Tréville several months ago. Like a very proud older brother he had fought for d'Artagnan to give him a chance to secure a commission from the King.

 

“I think we call it a tie!” D’Artagnan said out loud. “If it hadn’t been for the stone and the wet ground, you would have beaten me. But I appreciate your gesture.”

 

      He smiled at Athos.

 

“Are you really alright?” He asked his mentor, while accepting his hand.

 

      Athos asked himself the very same question, as he massaged his chest, where the pain, now gone, had caught him during the fight. His skin felt irritated and itchy. Mindlessly he started to scratch the point under his shirt.

 

_Really, the third time I’ve been on the floor today?_

 

       Angrily he tried to push the thought away.

 

“I am fine!” He said much too loudly to d'Artagnan. “I simply had not seen that damn stone.”

 

      He did not register the sweat on his forehead or his much too red face. D’Artagnan laid his sword on the wooden table. Tréville was watching from the distance. He had stopped to give Athos some time to gather himself. The guard of his three brothers was obviously what the proud man needed right now. Seeing his Lieutenant fall had given him a stab in his heart.

 

_Athos, you should have stayed in bed! That’s enough!_

 

      He decided to ask him to help with some boring paperwork. His second-in-command was obviously not fit for duty today. Whatever it was, he did not want to see him get hurt any further in hand-to-hand combat. He left the last step of the stairs and approached the four _Inséparables_ who had now gathered again around their favourite place and had formed a protective shield around Athos. The Lieutenant greedily drank his second cup of water and after that he put some of the water in his hands and he wiped his hot face with it.

 

“Are you really alright?” D’Artagnan asked again quietly in order to make sure that no one else, but Aramis and Porthos and of course Athos himself could hear it.

 

“Just a bit sore, don’t worry! I am fine!”

 

      Aramis rolled his eyes.

 

“Athos, a word please.”

 

      Tréville had reached their resting place. No shouting from the balcony, no loud words. He had even spoken softly, his eyes filled with concern. Athos sighed and stood up slowly.

 

“If you will excuse me gentlemen! The Captain is asking for me!” With these words he shakily followed his commanding officer back to the stairs.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Sit down!” Tréville said to Athos, as he stood in front of his Captain’s desk.

 

“I need your help with some papers. The diplomatic meeting is costing me my last nerves!”

 

      Athos had expected that Tréville would have asked him how he was. Of course the old fox had seen him tumbling to the ground. He had expected that he would be shouted at and that he would send him to his quarters to rest but nothing like that. Of course he had ignored the direct order of the Captain. He had not allowed Aramis to check him. So it took him a while to work out Tréville’s change of behaviour. Slowly he sat down. The chair felt comfortable.

 

“How can I help you, Captain?”

 

“Well, at first we should go through the security details of the summit on Friday. We have to check on the schedule of the King. Where he wants to go? What he wants to do? Then we need more palace guards than usual because we have a lot of noblemen there and some foreign statesmen have already arrived. King Louis wants to expand his trade market with French and foreign goods. I need your tactical intuition in this Athos!”

 

      The swordsman tried to concentrate on the things Tréville had just told him.

 

_It’s warm in here. I need something to drink. Water. And I really need to refresh myself._

 

      He felt his bladder pressing and his clothes were wet and muddy. Athos was disturbed by Tréville’s questioning look. Something he just must have overheard right now.

 

“Athos?” Athos looked confused under Tréville’s bright blue eyes’ scrutiny.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I just wanted to know if you’ve eaten anything today? I have asked Serge for some food and water, so that we can have dinner here and work a bit longer.”

 

       Athos nodded.

 

“That’s fine with me!”

 

      Tréville observed his Lieutenant,he looked fatigued, his face was reddish, his eyes looked feverish and he seemed to have problems following him, which shouldn’t have surprised him from what he’d seen earlier.

 

_What’s wrong with you, my son? I need you right now. Milady’s return must trouble you but ... thank God you haven’t seen her with the King. Wait. Of course you are not that stupid. You must have seen her with the King at the palace. I am sorry that I couldn’t spare you this ...  But now, with the Cardinal dead and Rochefort trying to get more and more influence in the palace, I need your strategical and political thinking. And I need your coolness to calm me, so I need you focused and concentrated._

 

      He decided not to bother Athos with asking about how he was feeling, better to give him some time and space to find his own way back. Serge entered and brought plenty of food and fresh water. Athos excused himself for a moment and came back quickly. He drank more water and did not touch the food at all but they started working.

 

“What do you think about Rochefort’s new influence with the King!”

“You really ask me that? Athos stared at his Captain.

 

      Tréville gave him a faint smile.

 

“I mean … how can we prevent him from getting even more power?”

 

Athos sighed:

“My short answer to that is, we have to throw him back into a Spanish prison cell. There he can rot in hell. About my long answer …. ”

 

      Athos had lost his thought. A bit irritated he blinked.

 

“About that … I guess … I have to give it more thought.”

 

      With his hand he had started to scratch the itching spot under his shirt over the scarf again, as he tried to overcome his absent mindedness. He finished his sentence but Tréville noticed that his Lieutenant had trouble concentrating. Formulating his thoughts while reading the text the man had to squint as if unable to decipher the lines on the paper. He let his question go and both men looked at the papers that had arrived from the palace with all the important information about the summit. From time to time Tréville looked up from his own papers and observed him to make sure his Lieutenant did not need to lie down. Outside he could hear his men’s laughter as the last task of the tournament began. As Athos’ eyes started to droop, Tréville decided to call it a day and send Athos to his quarters to rest.

 

“Time for you to call it a night, Athos! We will continue tomorrow.”

 

      Athos was surprised but rose from his chair and walked unsteadily back to his quarters.

 

 ⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Friday evening, Athos’ room_ **

      How he wished that his unease would be gone after finally sitting down in his quarters, but all his strength suddenly left him. He noticed that something was very wrong. Even more than during the whole past day.

 

 _What’s wrong with me? My heart is beating again much too fast as it was during my fight with d'Artagnan and then it suddenly slows down again. My chest ... arghhhh ... this pain is unbearable. I feel far too hot. Damn, I must have caught that stupid cold from the Dauphin. God is it sticky in here?My head … arghhh … I need fresh air and why is everything so loud and noisy around me?_ _The light is so bright … It can’t be that bright … It can’t be ... I_ _need to lie down, just sleep it off and tomorrow it will be better again. Just … my throat is on fire. I need air, why can’t I get enough air? Why is it so hot in here? I must have a fever, Aramis is right._

 

“Aramis, I … think ...” Athos tried to get up from his chair in order to open his window.

 

      He tried to gasp for air and managed to stumble a few steps in his room to his window. He felt very groggy and lightheaded and stopped in the middle of the room. Looking surprised at Aramis, he started to speak but his voice was low and he had trouble concentrating. He slurred:

 

“... I don’t feel so … what’s wrong wi... ?”

 

      Athos couldn’t finish his sentence. His eyes rolled back into his head and if it hadn’t been for Porthos’ fast reaction, who sensed that something was very wrong with his brother, he would have ended up in a heap on the floor. Porthos jumped into action. His big arms held him in a secure grip. Athos’ head was resting on his chest and his whole body went limp. The heat that emanated from Athos forehead and skin had Porthos worried. With his dark eyes he looked for help in the direction of Aramis.

 

“What’s wrong with him? He is out cold! And he is burning like a candle.”

 

“Let’s find out. Wait, I’ll help you to get him to his bed.”

 

      Together they managed to carry their sick brother to his bed. Porthos put up the blanket and tucked Athos up in it, after he had helped his unconscious brother out of his leather boots while Aramis started to check on Athos breathing, which was a little erratic. He could feel the heat that radiated from his brother’s forehead. That he was still unconscious was not good, not good at all.

 

“Athos! Athos, can you hear me! Open your eyes for me. Come on!”

 

      Aramis slapped lightly on Athos’ cheeks, but no reaction. His brother was still out cold. He started to remove Athos’ leather jacket from him, that he was still and always wore like an armour protecting his secret garden. Aramis discovered that Athos’ shirt had been soaked through with perspiration. He looked around in Athos’ room and saw a clean shirt lying on the nearby table.

 

“Porthos, can you get me some towels, some water and that shirt, please ?”

 

      He gestured in the direction of the trunk in the corner of the room. Porthos did as he was asked and together they cleaned their brother, put on his new shirt and got rid of his trousers in the dim light of the room. Aramis checked again for Athos’ pulse, which was pounding much too fast, his heartbeat was erratic. The medic put his hand flat on Athos’ chest and waited until he could feel Athos’ heartbeat under his fingers. His brother had palpitations. One moment Athos’ heartbeat was much too slow, the next it nearly jumped and became much too fast. His brother’s breathing was accelerated.

 

_That’s not good, not good at all._

 

      While Aramis was checking Athos’ condition, the nobleman stayed unconscious. With a reassuring small smile into Porthos’ direction, the medic got up.   

 

“I will be back in a minute! I just have to get my medical kit and some herbs.”

 

      With these words, he left a perplexed Porthos, who took his guard next to the bed of his brother.

 

“Oh, Athos, why can’t you just tell us when you don’t feel well? Is that so hard?” Porthos asked in the silence of the night.


	4. Man's best friend.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews.  
> ♥♥♥

**_Saturday morning (31st May 1631)_ **

 

       Two dark brown eyes, surrounded by laugh lines greeted Athos the next morning. As he very, very slowly opened his eyes and stopped them half-open.

_Why is Aramis face hanging over mine? And why does he smile at me as he smiles at his little baby-son. No, no, no wait … The Dauphin. Did I just say that out loud ... his son?_

_Have I been shot? Or injured?_

       The last time he remembered Aramis sitting over him like that, with concerned eyes and a supportive smile was after he had woken up in the infirmary of the garrison. Athos closed his eyes again. Six years before.

“Come on Athos! Open those eyes of yours. Yeah, that’s it!”

       Athos heard his brother’s voice in the distance. He tried to focus on it and forget the horrible thoughts of what he had endured in the past. It had taken him quite a while to get back to his normal self after that unpleasant experience.

_Am I in the infirmary? No, that’s my room!_

       Athos slowly opened his eyes for the second time, turning his head and finding out about who was with him in the room. Aramis was sitting next to him. Porthos was sound asleep on the chair next to his now cold fireplace.

_Why are they both here? I can’t remember that I have been injured._

       He checked for any sign that a sword or bullet had hit him. For any pain in his arms, chest, legs, feet. Nothing. Nothing, but a sore feeling in his throat.

“Yes, that’s it!” Aramis encouraged his friend.

“Aramis, why are you sitting next to my bed?” Athos asked the medic, confused.

       Aramis looked concerned at the swordsman. With a soft smile he answered:

 “How are you feeling?”

   

       Next to him Porthos yawned and stretched himself.

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, he is awake. And he is listening to your talk over him!” Athos said disgruntled, before adding still irritated, “Would you both please tell me why you are sitting in my room? I am fine!”

       At these words Porthos burst out in loud laughter, stood up and came nearer to his bed.

“Fine! Huh! Even the King does not dramatise that much as you do right now.”

“Why are you saying this, Porthos?”

       Athos still could not remember what had happened to make both his brothers sit next to him in his room.

“Because I declare fainting in your room and being non-responsive after that, is not being fine, my dear friend.” Porthos said much too loud for Athos’ ears .

       Athos squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Easy, easy, Porthos!” Aramis calmed his big brother.

“What happened?” Athos asked, his eyes still closed.

“You fainted!” answered Porthos trying to hide his grin.

“Men don’t faint!” Athos stated dryly.

“But you did.” Porthos emphasised.

“Alright, Athos, you passed out, is this any better,” replied Aramis.

       Athos tried to throw him his best glare but with his eyes closed it didn’t work as he would have wished.

“So, _Monsieur de Je vais bien*_ , how are you, really? And no lies,” Aramis smiled, hiding his worry behind this poor joke.

“I am … f ...” Athos slurred.

 

“Ffffff … What … funny? Sure you are, Porthos laughed. But fine, no!”

“I need to get up,” Athos cried suddenly, bolting upright.

“Woah! Chamber pot?” Porthos asked!

“Wh … what? … No … it’s time to work!”

   

       Aramis and Porthos stood up to make him room as the man left his bed, ripping away blankets and sheets. Then he began to walk around the room. Bending to look under the scarce furniture. Opening the window. Closing it. Opening it again to take his bucket. Putting the bucket on the floor. Then getting back to the bed. Bending to look under it. His two friends stared at him, amazed and a little dizzy because of the crazy dance of their ill brother. At last, Aramis asked:

“Athos? ... Athos! …” He tried.

       No reaction.

“Athos?” He tried a little louder. “What are you looking for?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you? Is there another Athos in this room?”

“Who is Athos?”

       Porthos laughed nervously and looked at Aramis. The latter tried to smile reassuringly, but he began to worry, worry a lot. He tried to approach Athos and seized his shoulders, making the delirious ill man turn his haunted eyes towards him.

“Athos, look at me. Do you know who you are?”

“Of course! Are you stupid? Or mad? I am Athos … That’s why you call me ... Athos. Funny isn’t it?” Athos replied with a snort.

       Then he looked closely and very seriously at Aramis, his nose just a few inches away from Aramis’.

“What … are … you … doing, Athos?!”

“Thinking …”

“Thinking of what?” Asked Aramis cautiously.

“Did you ever try to braid your beard?”

“Wh … Sorry, what?!”

“Your beard is long, don’t you think? You will soon need to braid it! Let me try …”

       Aramis backed up slapping Athos’ eager hands. He heard Porthos stifle a laugh and would have stuck his tongue at his friend if the situation hadn’t been so dramatic. And suddenly, Athos smiled. It began with a light twitch of the corner of his mouth, then he smiled, then he grinned then he bent forward, hands on his knees trying to breathe while laughing like a madman!

“Athos!” Aramis shouted.

       And it ended suddenly. It ended as it had begun. And Athos froze.

“Athos?” Aramis tried again.

       Porthos came beside them.

“Athos, what’s the matter, my friend?” He asked anxiously.

       Athos looked at him, eyes wide.

“Porthos? Are you crying?”

       Porthos wiped his eyes with little discretion, but Athos didn’t seem to notice.

“Athos. Tell us. What’s the matter? What are you looking for? Why did you laugh? Why are you … Why are you crying now?” Porthos continued.

“Porthos, leave him alone. He is not himself right now. Athos, come back to your bed please.” Aramis said in a shaky voice.

“I can’t.” Athos said wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.      

 

“Why?” Aramis asked gently.

“Because I need …”

“You need?”

       Porthos had sat back on his chair, arms wrapped around himself staring terrified at his friend’s face where big childish tears were now running on his red cheeks, disappearing in his scruffy beard. Aramis wiped the tears with the back of his hand and Athos leaned into the warm contact.

“Athos, what are you looking for?” He asked even more softly than the first time.

“My _claparnot_ … I … I think…”

“Your?” Aramis asked.

“My … I don’t know … I … Aramis, I can’t remember …”

       He bowed his head towards Aramis’ shoulder where he began to weep in earnest. Aramis curled his arms around him and murmured reassuring words, while throwing an anxious look to Porthos:

“Come back to bed, my friend. You need to rest …”

       He led him towards the bed, but Athos stopped abruptly.

“I need …”

“What do you need?”  Porthos asked joining them.

       Athos stretched his right arm towards something with a trembling forefinger.

“Oh, right, chamber pot!” said Porthos.

       Athos smiled through his tears. His expression a mixture of relief and shame.

“Do you need privacy?” asked Aramis.

“Please …”Athos replied “But … don’t …”

       He seemed to hate his pleading tone, but in his haze, he knew that he had to ask.

“Yes, my friend …” said Aramis, gently.

“Don’t leave me … I …”

“We won’t. We are just going to turn our back, then we will stay here.”

       So they did. Athos managed not to stumble nor break anything nor make something he would be ashamed of later.

“The crown of the _targeihal est garl_ …”

       Porthos and Aramis turned back abruptly. Porthos moaned:

“Oh, no, not again, Athos, please!”

       Athos turned to look at them.

“I … don’t … I … want to …”

       Porthos jumped just in time to catch the sick man in his strong arms after his eyes had rolled back into his head.

“Jesus! What has just happened, Porthos?” Aramis sighed breathless.     

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

**_Morning muster_ **

       Tréville had to blink twice as he stared at his gathered Musketeers on Saturday morning. It had started to rain heavily and his men looked more and more like a _[soule](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_soule)* _ team than the outstanding personal guard of the King of France. Through the thick rain drops he tried to locate the _Inséparables_. But he had no luck. Not one, not two, not three … all four of them were missing. It wasn’t necessary to question the others about their whereabouts. He knew exactly where he would find all four of them and that fact made him not angry, but very worried. The only explanation why all four of them were not there, was that Athos must be worse than the day before. He had hoped that his Lieutenant would have beaten the cold or whatever else was bothering him with an early and long sleep. He was sure that Aramis had taken good care of the sick  Musketeer, that he had gone to bed early. His look moved back to his other waiting Musketeers. Their wet state made him hurry to give the orders of the day.

       He just wanted to go and check on Athos as a messenger from the palace arrived. The King expected him immediately to talk about the summit. He sighed, gave Jean-Pierre important instructions and hurried to leave the garrison.  

“Where is Tréville?” The young Gascon, d’Artagnan, hurried to Jean-Pierre.

“Why weren’t you at morning muster” Jean-Pierre asked curiously. “And where are the others?”

“Er … I … I don’t know … I overslept.” D’Artagnan mumbled.

“Tréville has just left to the palace. The King wanted to see him at once.”

       D’Artagnan sighed out loud. He had just wanted to check on Athos this morning after seeing his mentor nowhere in the courtyard.

“But if you are already here, d’Artagnan. The Captain asked us to ….”

       D’Artagnan only listened half-hearted. It was clear that he now was busy at least until noon.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Three hours later, Athos’ room_ **

       He awoke to the horrible feeling that every fluid had deserted his body, leaving his throat parched like the pages of an old book, and to the heat of something at the foot of his bed. He propped himself on an elbow to see what the source of his discomfort was. In the dim light he first thought that a stray dog had entered his room during his sleep, because he spotted thick curly black hair on his bed. His eyes were getting used to the weak light, he noticed that the dog curled at the foot of his bed and on his own feet, was wearing a -formerly- white shirt. And the dog was snoring lightly, mouth open, drooling a bit on the sheet. His rosary had slipped out of his collar and shone softly in the barely existent sunrays. His hand was curled around Athos’ right ankle.  

“Oh, Aramis,” Athos smiled fondly.

       He looked around the room, trying to remember why they were still here. He spotted Porthos, slumped on a chair. His leg had been propped on the low stool but had slipped and the big man was now sleeping in an awkward position which would earn him a crick in the neck later. Athos smiled at the sight. The chair seemed so small and fragile under the heavy muscular body, but a thought hit him: Porthos was a sensitive fragile soul in a body like an armour.

       Except maybe being exceedingly emotional, Athos felt much better, even if he had no memory of what had happened earlier. Why were his brothers still here? No idea. Why was he still in bed at this late hour? The sun seemed much too high in the sky, as far as Athos could guess in spite of the heavy clouds racing behind the glass panels. So, had he missed morning muster? He tried to move his overheated feet without waking the human dog up. And he failed. The locks of black curly hair moved, Aramis closed his mouth and swallowed several times then raised his head, blinking his bleary dark chocolate brown eyes in Athos’ direction.  

“Théodore.” rasped Athos.

“Sorry?” Aramis stammered, trying to sit ignoring the pain in his back, his neck, well, every part of his body.

“Théodore,” Athos repeated.

“Oh, no, please Athos … not again!” Aramis moaned staring straight into Athos’ pale eyes.

“Again what?” Asked Athos sitting up, just a little dizzy.

       And suddenly, the realisation hit Aramis. No more haunted or insane expression in Athos’ eyes. Just a fond, slightly amused but still painful expression. Aramis scrambled to extract himself from the crumpled sheets and landed heavily beside Athos. He settled himself comfortably, crossed his legs at the ankles and bumped his left shoulder against Athos’ right.

“And … what do you think you are doing, Aramis?” A surprised Athos asked, not used to share his bed with a grown up and very tactile human dog.

“Enjoying a warm bed!”

“Aramis! Since when do you enjoy sharing a bed with a bearded human?” Athos drawled.

Aramis laid his head on Athos’ shoulder, grinning.

“So, Théodore? ”

“Who?”

       Aramis jumped. Anxious.

“Athos, I thought you were back with us, just for a moment, and …” Replied Aramis worrying again.

“Back? I wasn’t aware I had left you. Not an easy task with two watchdogs in my room. Well, two sleepy watchdogs. By the way, what are you two doing here? What time is it?”

_What’s wrong with me? I can’t remember? Have I been injured? No, I think I have a cold. But somehow it must have become worse, otherwise Aramis would never be next to me right now._

“So, you don’t remember?” asked Aramis.

“Remember what?”

       Aramis laid a hand on his forehead, in order to check Athos’s temperature.

“I am fine,” replied Athos escaping the warm touch.

“You are not, but your are less hot. So, Théodore?”

“Yes, Théodore.” Athos smiled. A true smile. With a tinge of nostalgia.

“Théodore was my father’s dog.”

“And?”

“You reminded me of this dog when you woke up drooling on my feet, with your big brown puppy eyes.”

“Puppy eyes? Seriously Athos.” Aramis chided.

       Athos’ laugh rumbled against his arm. Aramis inched a little further against his friend. Athos scratched nervously in the collar of his shirt. Aramis sensed his tension and gripped his forearm in a reassuring and calming gesture.

“Théodore was a cocker-spaniel …”

“So not a poodle, I feel better!” Aramis laughed.

“So this cocker-spaniel used to come in my bedroom in the middle of the night with his muddy big paws. He loved sleeping on my feet or drooling on my pillow. His breath was a pure delight! And he was clingy as someone I know.”

“I like the talkative Athos! Even if I am compared to a clingy, stinky, muddy, drooling puppy!”

_Why am I suddenly so hot?_

“Now, can you leave my bed please?” Athos pleaded suddenly.

“No.” Aramis crossed his arms on his chest in a _don’t-you-dare-ask-me-to-leave_ attitude.

“Look at Porthos,” he whispered in Athos’ ear. “What kind of dog do you think he is?”

“A _S[aint-Hubert](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloodhound)* _.”

“A what?”

“A Saint-Hubert, big brown hound with long ears, sweet brown eyes and a tendency to drool a lot.”

“I can hear you, you know that?” grumbled a barely awake Porthos stretching his limbs one by one. “How are you Athos?”

_No, no not again. My heart is racing much too fast. My throat hurts so much ... I need ..._

“Hot. And my bed is a little too crowded for now, but I am fine. I just need to … I need to, sorry ... I don’t feel so well … I …”

       Aramis jumped, kneeling on the bed to look straight in Athos’ eyes, taking one of his hands in both his.

“Athos, what’s the matter ?”

“I … don’t know … I …” He rasped, the lack of fluid he had sensed earlier more and more evident.

       Porthos stood up and went to the bed in two strides in spite of the pulsing pain in his numb thigh.

“Calm down Athos. Don’t worry, I will remove the cocker-spaniel from your bed. Aramis, get up, he is too hot with you in there.”

_Why have I trouble breathing? I need water! My throat ..._

       Aramis got up reluctantly and went to fetch a cup of water. Athos swallowed the whole content in one go, panting a little. Aramis filled the cup again and Athos emptied it at once.

“Woah, you know what Athos, you remind me of a thirsty labrador.” Porthos tried to joke half-heartedly. “Now, is it better?”

“Yes, thank you, Porthos.”

       A rasp at the door made the three men raise their head. The door slowly cracked open and d’Artagnan’s  head shyly showed itself.

“Speaking of puppies,” Aramis laughed .

       Porthos and Athos laughed. Yes, Athos laughed and it made d’Artagnan’s eye widen in surprise.

“I … I … came to see how you were feeling this morning …”

“I am better d’Artagnan, thank you, just a little feverish, nothing bad. I shall return to my duties this afternoon. Porthos and Aramis took good care of me.”

“Oh … I am … relieved … Yesterday, you seemed … you were ...”

“D’Artagnan,” Aramis interrupted, “Aren’t you needed elsewhere? I think that with three men missing, the captain will need your help.”

D’Artagnan startled not really understanding why Aramis wanted to dismiss him so quickly.

“No, please, come in d’Artagnan,” Athos said, glad to have his little brother with him for a moment.

       The four of them, laughing in the same room were moments he valued, even more when he wasn’t feeling well - and he wasn’t feeling well. He was still anxious, nervous and was beginning to feel restless. His throat hurt a lot but he wouldn’t tell Aramis.

       D’Artagnan crossed the threshold awkwardly, his arms crossed, hands under his arms in his favourite attitude.

“I … You … Are … I ...”

“Well, you are quite the orator, d’Artagnan,” Athos drawled, now sitting on the edge of his mattress, elbows on the knees, hands crossed.

“Says the one who mainly speaks with his eyebrows and these terrifying blue green eyes,”  Porthos laughed.

“Come and sit, d’Artagnan.” Athos encouraged the young man, patting the bed beside him.

       The silence stretched. Awkward.

“So, d’Artagnan, how was this morning? What is the news from the palace?” Aramis asked to alleviate the tense atmosphere.

_Oh God, my head hurts …_

       Athos was silent again. His head now in his hands. His fingers clutching at his curls.

“D’Artagnan,” Aramis tried again.

“Yes, sorry,” replied the young man who was anxiously staring at Athos. “Er … just … routine … you know … stables ... training … and the Captain has asked me to come and ask about Athos’ health … so …”

_This boy is like a breath of fresh air. I shouldn’t think of him as a boy, but I can’t help. He doesn’t know how I need his presence now more than ever. Why? His candour is so refreshing, and his care so reassuring. Focusing on him makes the pains fade. I need some distraction. It’s good that d’Artagnan is here, now I can focus on him, it helps the pain to go away ..._

“So you came and I am glad,”  Athos said in a low voice.

       And unexpectedly, he laid a hand on d’Artagnan’s forearm and squeezed. The young man blushed a little, stunned.

“Don’t be so worried!” Athos told him quietly.

D’Artagnan startled and raised his head to look straight into Athos’ eyes.

“I am not…”

“You are. Your thoughts are very noisy, you know that?” Athos smiled.

       D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow and his upper lip twitched in a perfect imitation of his mentor.

“Alright. But how are you? Really.”

“Really. Not very well but I am better than yesterday. It’s just a cold. I have a fever, a headache, my throat hurts, no need to be a qualified doctor to establish such a diagnosis.”

 _And my skin seems too small for my body, I am always craving for fresh water. I sometimes see things I shouldn’t see. And I feel, oh, so restless! I need some air. I need more_ _air._

       Suddenly, after gripping d’Artagnan’s arm even harder, he stood up. He went to the window, running a shaky hand through his hair. D’Artagnan was about to follow him but Porthos stopped him.

“Let him be …” Porthos said in a hushed tone. And he added louder:

“So d’Artagnan, nothing funny or interesting at the garrison today?”

“Er … I …” D’Artagnan began, his eyes still fixed on the shivering back in front of the window. “Oh, yes, Alphonse knocked Mathieu out.”

“What?” Porthos cried. “But Alphonse is as strong as a bluebird and Mathieu is more like a _[percheron](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percheron)*. _ How did he manage to achieve such a prowess?”

“Mathieu was on all fours trying to find a coin he had lost in the courtyard and Alphonse accidentally dropped a bucket of water he was bringing to the stables, right on his head.”

       Porthos burst into laughter. Aramis, whose eyes hadn’t left Athos’ back during the whole exchange, noticed the hitch of the ill man’s shoulders at the loud noise.

“Thank you, d’Artagnan,” he said. “Now you should go and eat something. I assume that you are hungry and thirsty. Sorry, we only have fresh water in this room and you’ll want something stronger.” “I will go, thank you Aramis ... Athos, I wish you a fast recovery. I … we miss you. Oh, Aramis, I had forgotten, the Captain wants to see you. Now!”

“Alright, lead the way, I am coming.”

 

   D’Artagnan was about to leave but suddenly turned back.

“Er … Athos … I … brought you a little something … I stole it just under Serge’s nose … It’s a fresh _[pâté](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_cuisine)* _ … I …”  

       Athos didn’t look at him. He didn’t seem to have heard anything. So d’Artagnan left the small pastry wrapped in a white handkerchief on the table, sighed, and left the room quickly.

       Before leaving, Aramis took his coat and weapons and approached Athos.

“I will be back, my friend. Take it easy. You need to rest. We still don’t know what your illness is, so take care. Your body is fighting something, you mustn’t fight your body.” He murmured in his ear, his chin on the man’s left shoulder, a hand on his right clammy elbow.

       Athos nodded without turning around. Porthos sent Aramis an understanding and reassuring look. He would take care of Athos. Of course, he would. Maybe he wasn’t a Saint-Hubert rather a Saint-[Bernard](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Bernard_\(dog\)).

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Monsieur de Je vais Bien_ : Lord I am Fine
> 
> Soule  
> : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_soule  
> Saint-Hubert : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloodhound  
> Saint-Bernard : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Bernard_(dog)  
> Percheron : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percheron  
> Pâté : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_cuisine


	5. Blanc-manger ou macaron?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this new chapter and please, if you like it, leave us a comment.
> 
> Thank you again to our good angels: Beth and Helensg 
> 
> ♥♥♥

**_Earlier at the palace_ **

 

        King Louis was pacing from one side of his large ball room to the other side. Back and forth, back and forth Tréville and Rochefort’ eyes following him.

 

 _For God’s sake_ , _we are at the palace, not in a competition of Jeu de Paume_[ _1_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeu_de_paume) _. When will they stop?  
_

 

“I don’t want to have him sitting next to me! And not in front of me!”

 

        Tréville couldn’t believe it. His urgent meeting with the King was about the seating arrangements during the feast at the summit! Of course he knew Louis and his extraordinary behaviour - especially after the Cardinal had died - but right now he was more focused on the health of his Lieutenant or the security arrangements for the party on Friday. Tréville was pulled out of his thinking. In a moment he would have to give his opinion on the choice of the desserts. Should they eat _blanc-manger_[2](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blancmange) or _macarons_[3](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macaron)? Insane!

 

“Captain, what would you propose? Where shall we sit the Duke of Savoy and his wife Christine Marie?” Rochefort asked, snappish.

 

“Oh yes Tréville, please tell us what you have in mind. Your ideas are always very helpful,” King Louis added.

 

        The Captain tried to look as neutral as possible, while inside he was fuming. His blue eyes scanned the whole ballroom. A long table occupied the space from one end of the room to the other, so long that its ends were reaching both sides of the room. Around him there was enough space to put in four more tables. He scanned the whole room again.

 

“Why don’t you advise your valets to make another arrangement. With several smaller tables. At each table we can sit six to eight people. This way you can mix the people, while you and the Queen can sit at an extra table on a higher podium. If I may, I will draw you a plan.”

 

“Excellent idea!” King Louis exclaimed. “This way everybody knows that I am still the most powerful man in the room and I don’t need to listen to all the lies my brother-in-law is going to tell me. I don’t want to listen to his stories about his hunting achievements.” Louis emphasised.

 

“See, Rochefort, I knew it would be a good idea to ask for a second opinion.”

 

“Of course, Sire!” With an evil grin Rochefort looked at Tréville.

 

“You will draw me this plan, Captain!” Louis smiled broadly. “Now, that we have solved this. We have to discuss about the security detail of our summit.”

 

        With curiosity the King looked around him.

 

“Is there something amiss?” Tréville asked.

 

“I was just thinking, I thought the Musketeer Athos would accompany you this morning. Where is he?”

 

        Tréville was taken aback, he knew exactly that the King could not understand if someone did not appear even if he had a cold. He tried to search for a diplomatic answer.

Rochefort was not helpful at all.

 

“Maybe he has overslept, your Majesty.”

 

“I doubt that one of my Musketeer would do this, Rochefort. Especially not our Musketeer Athos. He is always punctual and very accurate. So, where is he Tréville?”

 

“Your Majesty …” Treville cleared his throat. “The messenger from the palace only asked me to come this morning, but I am perfectly sure that we can discuss the security details with the help of Rochefort and I will inform him of the plans later.”

 

“Rochefort, I think you are the person we can rely on in these insecure times. I am very confident that with your help we will even have a much better security plan.”

 

“I am delighted to help, wherever I am needed, your Majesty.” He bowed with a smile.

 

“See, Tréville. This is an answer I prefer to hear. Come let’s go in my states room to discuss the important facts.”

 

        Tréville bowed his head slightly. Together with Rochefort they followed King Louis. Of course Rochefort used every single reason to criticise Athos but this bad talking about his Musketeer was unwelcomed this morning. Athos was right, Rochefort should have been left in his Spanish prison cell, forgotten. This man was pure evil and he had to deal with the fact that this man earned the trust of the King more and more every week.

        Treville missed Athos at his side. As he had said the day before, Athos had the ability to calm him, he had a natural talent for politics and knew how to act at the Court. He imagined how he now would have glanced at him. A small smirk on his face and rolling his eyes. He hoped that the King would forget about Athos soon so that his Lieutenant would  not have to deal with an unfair punishment.

 

        Suddenly he was well aware that he must be very cautious in front of the Captain of the Red Guards and he had to make sure that the Musketeers would cover the main part of the security in order to prove to the King that his Musketeers were the right men for such an important task.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Tréville came back around noon. He rode with his horse into the courtyard, pressed the reins into Jacques’ hands. Seeing d’Artagnan leaving the stables he shouted:

 

“Bring Aramis to my office, right now!”

 

        Without waiting for an answer, he hurried up the stairs to his office, entering it and closing his door angrily. He looked around in the chaos of his room. His table was covered in papers lying in a loose order everywhere. Usually Athos stored the papers he looked through in neatly ordered piles, but not this time. He needed to put them in order again later. He put his wet coat on the iron grid that parted his room into working space and bedroom. His wet hat ended on the small bed to the right side of his table.

 

        He sat down in his chair and started to massage his temples trying to get rid of a nasty headache that this stupid Rochefort’s high pitched voice had caused. He still could hear all the stupid ideas Rochefort had suggested to the King. Most of them had not worked and it had taken all his willpower and diplomatic skills to convince the King about others strategies and how to protect their noble guests. He had missed Athos by his side, he would have to return later that afternoon and he needed someone else with him. He doubted that Athos would be fit enough after what he had witnessed the other day.

 

        An idea crossed his mind, he would ask d’Artagnan to come with him. First he could help him with putting this mess into order and secondly the young Gascon was a good strategical thinker as well. Besides he knew Athos’ thinking and had learned some diplomatic tricks from him and most important of all, the King liked him. Not sure if it was still the case after the incident in the forest several weeks ago when King Louis had wanted to be a commoner and had ended up as a prisoner and the fact that d’Artagnan had refused to play the role of an executioner.

        Well, the King was very moody, at least he should give it a try. Maybe this way he could distract the King from wanting to see his Lieutenant but first he had to find out how Athos really was.

         A knock at the door interrupted his thinking.

 

“Come in!” He shouted with a gruff voice still mirroring his bad mood from the discussion at the palace. 

 

“You wanted to see me, Captain? I am sorry, I … we missed …” Aramis said.

 

        Tréville waved the medic with a simple smile to come into his room and didn’t listen to Aramis’ attempt of a justification.

 

“Take a seat, Aramis! I can guess why you have missed morning muster, so no excuses needed!”

 

        Aramis observed the chaos on Tréville’s usually neatly polished table, but said nothing. He could see that his Captain was still brooding over something.

 

“Thank you!” He sat down opposite to his commanding officer.

 

“So, how is he?” Concerned blue eyes met tired brown ones.

 

        He did not need to say who he meant with “he”.

 

Aramis sighed out loud:

 “I am afraid, Captain he is not much better than yesterday. I  think he is even worse. The rain and the competition yesterday have not really helped him. I think he has developed a severe cold. He is running a very high fever needing to be monitored all the time and …”

 

        Tréville listened alertly. His look slid over his desk and stopped at the whole chaos.

 

“I feared that he was worse … We sat down yesterday to discuss the security details for the summit at the end of next week, but Athos could not really focus or concentrate on the details. That’s not like him. I should have sent him to rest earlier …” He regretted out loud.

 

“Captain, I think it is his fever that makes him like this, right now. What he needs is lots of fluids. Lots of sleep and maybe ... tomorrow he will be better.”

 

        Tréville sighed inwardly there was no way, his Lieutenant would make it to the palace this afternoon. This was quite clear after Aramis’ description of Athos’ state of health.

 

“I wanted to ask you if Porthos, d’Artagnan and I, could take the rest of the day off, to take care of him. He is … how shall I put this … not hundred percent himself right now. The high fever confuses him and he seems to hallucinate. It would be better, if we could be with him in order to help him through this very unpleasant time for him.”

 

        Tréville smiled in sympathy at his medic. Of course, if one of the _Inséparables_ was wounded the other three gathered around him and protected him as best as they could. He valued their protection and care for each other very much. Again his glance moved back to his table and he was reminded that he had to deal with a spoiled King, a nasty Rochefort and about one hundred guests who wanted to be part of the summit.

“As much as I appreciate your concern for Athos, I am afraid I can’t release you all from duty this afternoon. I will need a helping hand with this!” He pointed at the chaos of his table.

 

“Usually, Athos helps me to organise my paperwork so I can concentrate on the important aspects for the King. I could use a helping hand right now.” He cleared his throat. “The King even asked me about the whereabouts of Athos this morning. Can you believe that? Usually he forgets about the Musketeer’s doing palace guard and now, suddenly, he wants to have him around him. So I need a second Musketeer with me, otherwise he will want to see Athos.”

 

“Captain, in his state this would be impossible! I mean right now. He is in no condition to get up or even appear at the palace. He needs rest!” Aramis said forcefully.

 

“I know, Aramis! And I agree with you that my Lieutenant needs rest and a warm bed and caring friends around him. But I need someone with me to convince the King about our security concept. It would be good to have d’Artagnan with me. The King likes him at least I hope that he has forgiven him and d’Artagnan knows how Athos works and thinks.”

 

        Aramis nodded slowly.

 

“Was it that bad this morning?”

 

“Let’s say that Rochefort drives me crazy. He manipulates the King every time he opens his mouth.”

 

        Tréville looked angry.

 

“And the worst is that the King listens to every single idea of this jester, so having d’Artagnan around me, would help a lot. Do you think you can manage Athos alone. I mean with Porthos’ help?”

 

        Aramis stood up.

 

“I think we can handle him. I will look for d’Artagnan and tell him to see you, but first you should eat something!” He told his Captain.

 

“Same goes for you!” Tréville smiled at his medic.

 

“Make sure Athos gets enough rest. I will check on him tonight!”

 

        With that said, Aramis left the room and Tréville’s eyes followed him concerned. If Athos had a simple cold, he would have already stood in his room, asking where he could help. He had the dull feeling that his Lieutenant was developing something worse than a cold. He swore, angry that he could not check on him right now in person. But urgent matters needed his whole concentration.

 

 _Athos, get better soon, I need you!_  

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

**_Athos’ room_ **

 

        A heavy silence settled in the dim room after the departure of d’Artagnan and Aramis. Athos was still staring at something outside. Or maybe at nothing. Porthos couldn’t tell. He didn’t dare to move fearing that his weight would make the floor creak scaring the nervous man who was still shuddering badly. So he called softly:

 

“Athos …”

 

        No movement, no sign of having been heard.

 

“Athos,” he tried again now moving carefully.

 

        Luckily, the floor didn’t utter a sound and Porthos could approach the man, slowly, carefully, making his presence known, leaving at least four feet between them.

 

“Athos, talk to me, please.”

 

_I can’t Porthos. Please, don’t ask me anything for now. I need to breathe deeply. Why am I shaking like that? And my legs. It’s as if a colony of ants had decided to live in them. My God, this thought would make Porthos laugh out loud. I need to reassure him. Be brave, Athos! Fight these pains and fears, for him, for them, for you!_

 

        Athos turned back abruptly making a stunned Porthos jump. The green eyes were darker, almost blue, bloodshot, and shone with unshed tears. Maybe it was from the fever, maybe not. Athos’ cheeks were still too red and his white eyelids made a painful contrast in this tired face. His eyelashes fluttered like long black feathers on the diaphanous skin. His pale lips couldn’t stop trembling.

 

“Sorry, Porthos.”

 

“Don’t do this to me again, Athos, you scared me, can I come beside you now?”

 

        He reached a hand in Athos’ direction as if Athos had been a terrified animal. Athos didn’t try to make a move towards the proffered hand but nodded sadly.

 

“Athos, what is it? You seemed so well.”

 

“I … don’t know … Sometimes I feel normal, sometimes everything becomes so … I don’t know how to say it, sorry.” He whispered.

 

“No need to be sorry. Are you cold? Can I touch you Athos? Please, I want to bring you a blanket.”  

 

“I won’t flee, you know.” He smiled sadly. “However, I don’t know if touching me right now is a good idea. I don’t want you to catch this flu or cold or whatever it is.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, if I have to catch it, it’s already done,” said Porthos closing the gap between them and wrapping the thick blue blanket around his friend’s shoulders.

 

        Still unsure, he left his arm around the shivering back, Athos didn’t try to dodge it. A small victory. But the heat radiating from the man’s body worried Porthos and made him wish Aramis was there. And then Athos started to speak. A low rumble against Porthos’ side. The man didn’t dare to interrupt him but he knew they needed to sit down. Both of them needed it. But for now, the priority was Athos.

 

“This blanket … it was … it was one of her presents … She loved the colour … You know, the … sky … the … flowers … I ....”

 

        Athos stopped talking and turned towards Porthos. The latter removed his arm but took Athos’ elbow to steady him, looking at him questioningly.

 

“I … I need … I need to breathe. I want to go outside, please Porthos.”

 

        A violent shudder shook his fragile figure and Porthos had to tighten his grip.

 

“Alright, I don’t think Aramis will be happy to know about that, but we can forget to tell him. What do you think ?”

 

        Athos had become more and more agitated. Porthos wrapped his arm around him once again.

 

“I can walk by myself you know,” Athos articulated with evident difficulties, his voice more and more raspy.

 

“You can, but I can’t. Let’s say that you are my human crutch for the afternoon.”

 

        Athos pretended to believe this big lie and let Porthos lead him outside. As the fresh air entered his lungs, Athos felt like suffocating. But slowly he calmed down. Porthos tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder to make him feel safe. Athos tried to dislodge the heavy arm. As comforting as it was, he couldn’t bear the contact. The mere contact of his own clothes made him shiver violently. So Porthos just put a hand under his elbow, just in case. As Athos made his way towards the gates, Porthos steered him away.

 

“No, this way.”

 

“Oh? Al … alright. But why?” The exhausted man panted.

 

“There are too many people crossing this courtyard, if we sit for a moment in the cemetery, the occupants won’t disturb us, and the air smells better. No horse manure, no smoke from the smithy, no sweat,” Porthos tried to joke.

 

          Then he linked arms with Athos and as a lame couple they made their way to the back of the garrison.

         The place was quiet. As the sun tried to win its battle against the rain, a few birds began to voice their relief. The grass was soaked and they had difficulties finding dry spots where they could put their feet, but at last, they arrived under a large lime-tree shading, when the heat of summer burnt the place, an old stone covered in moss, maybe a vestige from an ancient building. They sat down on the stone. Athos immediately curled forward, wrapping his arms around himself. Porthos waited patiently. At last, Athos sat up and spoke:

 

“This blanket. I should have burnt it. As I should have burnt every mark of her time in my life. But I can’t Porthos, I just can’t. I am so sorry … I kept a few things. This blanket, it was a present. She loved this dark blue colour. I suppose she still loves it, even more when it’s set on a gold ring.”

 

        He snorted and stood up abruptly, dropping the blanket on the wet floor. Porthos just picked it up without taking his eyes from his friend’s slim figure. He didn’t dare to interrupt. He watched as Athos began to pace without even trying to avoid the muddy puddles. His anxiety seemed to increase and Porthos was about to stand up and ask him to go back into his room. But he also knew that the man needed fresh air, needed not to feel like a prisoner in his own room as he was already a prisoner in his own body.

 

“I… when I saw her … you know … I was the heir of this estate and my life had always been planned, but when I saw her, it was like …”

 

        He stopped and looked up at the sky.

 

“It was like that. Like a sunray breaking through heavy dark grey clouds. She was a sunray. I had never seen something so bright. Her eyes … You know … Her expression … She was … I … She wore a blue dress … and a plain brown hooded cloak … She … I … She loved these awful blue flowers. I don’t know why, they don’t even smell good. When she came across me in this dusty marketplace, I knew that she would be the sun in my sky. I thought, but she was a storm not a sunlight, she … but I … I still … I can’t … Why can’t I …? Please … Tell me … Christ! ... I can’t … why?” He stammered.

 

        He began to pant, trying to catch his breath, shaking like the lime-tree’s leaves in the wind. Porthos stood up and came to his side. Stopping him in his pacing, he silently put a hand on his chest. Athos just lowered his head and stared at the hand. Frozen. Under his palm, Porthos felt the strong, fast and uneven heartbeat.

 

“Athos,” he tried, “Please, you need to calm down!”  Porthos tried, worried to hear his friend spill out such a stream of words. It was the the first time in six years.

 

        Athos backed up under his touch, stumbling over the uneven and muddy earth until his heels hit an old stele, a tree root. Unexpectedly, he laughed. The laugh became mad. He couldn’t stop. Tears welled up in his tired eyes. Porthos couldn’t decide if it was because of this sudden and incomprehensible and crazy mirth or because the man had begun to lose his mind.

 

“Athos?” Porthos pleaded again.

 

“See, there is always something to block my path and as you see, it’s death. Death is following me, everywhere ...”

 

        Terrified, he looked at something above his friend’s shoulder. Porthos turned around but couldn’t see anything, just the weeds swaying softly.

 

“Athos, don’t do that to me, please, look at me. “

 

“She is there.”

 

        He pointed at something with a trembling finger. Porthos turned around again.

 

“Athos, you scare me, there is nothing over there.”

 

        Porthos began to doubt his own sanity.

 

“She is there, I can feel her … She smells so good, don’t you think? ... Why don’t you answer, do you hate her? I know you hate her.”

 

        And without warning, Athos suddenly seized the lapels of Porthos’ jacket, and driven by an incomprehensible strength, he pushed him back. Porthos stumbled on the muddy grass until his back hit the bark of the tree. He didn’t try to fight his mad friend. If he had fought back, he would have broken him like a twig. So he let him expel his rage and sorrow that way.

        Athos’ face was an inch away from Porthos’. The latter could smell the sour breath of the ill man and the rage suddenly vanished as it had come. Athos’ face crumpled and, loosing his hold on Porthos’ jacket, he suddenly fell forward. His forehead hit his friend’s chest. Porthos who had helplessly opened his arms wide, slowly and gently closed them around his friend’s trembling body while he wept inconsolably like a terrified child.

 

“Athos, my friend,” he whispered “Calm down, shhh ..., you will be fine, it’s the fever talking, don’t worry, I am here …”

 

        He continued his litany until the body in his arms went limp. He accompanied him as he crumbled down on the floor. He didn’t let go of the burning body, tightening his grip and looking around him helplessly. Why had he decided to come here where no one could see them?

        The pain in his thigh became almost unbearable as he laid his unconscious friend on his lap, waiting for a possible help. He reached for the blanket and covered them both with it. It was raining again, just a drizzle but enough to make him shiver under the dripping leaves.

        He waited anxiously. And at last, a figure appeared behind the corner of a wall. He shouted:

 

“Joseph, come here. We need your help!”

 

    The young man approached them with a shy and almost scared expression.

 

“Go and fetch Aramis, now!”

 

    The young cadet turned back immediately and ran.

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> 1) Jeu de paume (French pronunciation: [ʒø d(ə) pom]; English: "palm game") is a ball-and-court game that originated in France. It was an indoor precursor of tennis played without racquets, though these were eventually introduced. It is a former Olympic sport, and has the oldest ongoing annual world championship in sport, first established over 250 years ago. Originally spelled jeu de paulme, it is sometimes called courte paume or "real tennis" (Wikipedia).
> 
>  
> 
> 2)Blanc manger (or blancmange): Blancmange (/bləˈmɒnʒ/ or /bləˈmɑːndʒ/, from French blanc-manger French pronunciation: [blɑ̃mɑ̃ʒe]) is a sweet dessert commonly made with milk or cream and sugar thickened with gelatin, cornstarch or Irish moss[1] (a source of carrageenan), and often flavoured with almonds.
> 
>  
> 
> 3)A macaron (/ˌmɑːkəˈrɒn/ mah-kə-rohn; French pronunciation: [makaʁɔ̃]) is a sweet meringue-based confection made with egg white, icing sugar, granulated sugar, almond powder or ground almond, and food colouring.
> 
> Macarons have been produced in the Venetian monasteries since the 8th century A.D. During the Renaissance, Catherine de Medici's Italian pastry chefs made them when she brought them with her to France in 1533 upon marrying Henry II of France. Larousse Gastronomique cites the macaron was created in 1791 in a convent near Cormery. (Wikipedia).


	6. I want it to stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We couldn't leave our readers with this terrible cliffhanger so we post chap 6 today...  
> Next chapter in a few days...  
> Thank you for your nice comments. ♥♥♥
> 
> Thank you again Beth and Helensg.  
> All the remaining errors are ours. 

⚔⚔

 

**_Saturday evening_ **

        Aramis had begun his watch over his bedridden friend, he was deep in thought, thinking about what had occurred earlier. It had been a frightening picture, seeing Porthos sitting on the wet floor in the garrison’s graveyard, holding their sick brother to his chest in a firm grip. Athos was unconscious and Porthos’ injury had not allowed him to carry him back to his room. Of course, it had been a stupid idea to go outside with their patient and now the rain had soaked the Lieutenant’s clothes. One look at Porthos’ face had told him everything. There would be no apologies, no explanation why they had decided to go outside. Aramis knew how stubborn Athos could be and he knew that Porthos felt guilty. 

        Together they had managed to bring the helpless form of their sick friend back into his bed. A knock at the door startled Aramis. He was sitting on a chair next to Athos’ bed and he had laid his hand on Athos’ shoulder to reassure him. The man was sleeping restlessly. He turned his face to the door, as his Captain entered quietly. Slowly Aramis stood up, stretched himself and went to the door, where Tréville had standing. The Captain could see the state of weakness of his Lieutenant, the reddish face, the agitated sleep and the unsettled breathing. Aramis approached him.

“He is sleeping for now. But we try to wake him every hour to give him some tea in order to lower his fever.” He whispered.

“Go, rest and eat something, Aramis. You look tired and he will need you rested.”

“I have sent Porthos and d’Artagnan to eat and rest. They will be back in an hour, then I can go! We mustn’t leave him alone.”

“I can stay with him, Aramis. If he wakes up, I will help him drink some tea!” Tréville said softly but certain. 

        Aramis hesitated.      

“Go, that’s an order!” Tréville encouraged him. “It is not the first ill soldier I have seen and I can help with his care! Go, now!” 

        With a look back at sick friend, Aramis left the room. Relieved that he could find some needed rest for an hour. Tréville approached Athos’ bed. Before sitting down, he observed the patient more closely. Athos’ eyes were closed, sweat was beading on his temples and his thick light auburn hair was plastered on his forehead. The scratch on his cheek from collapsing in the courtyard the day before was still there. His eyes looked swollen, as if he had cried. Very untypical of his swordsman. His mouth was half open and he had trouble breathing evenly. The rest of his Lieutenant’s body was neatly tucked under a warm blanket. Tréville, in order not to wake his officer, sat quietly next to him on the chair Aramis had left only three minutes ago. Slowly, but softly, he started to wipe Athos’ face with a wet cloth.

_ Oh, Athos, how I wish I could help you! How I wish I could know what this illness is. Now I am not sure anymore that it’s a simple cold. But for God Sake, what is it? _

        Athos became agitated in his sleep. He moved anxiously as if he had a bad dream.

“Easy Athos, easy! Try to relax. You are safe!”

        Tréville wasn’t sure why he had just used these words, but they seemed to work and the ill man relaxed a little. Tréville began to relax as well, while watching him sleep more peacefully. He thought of his crazy day at the palace. The talk in the morning with the King, d’Artagnan’s help with the papers and, later that day, another boring meeting with the King and Rochefort. He was glad that this time the King had already forgotten about Athos whereabouts and d’Artagnan had helped him several times with ideas, on how to secure the first meeting on Monday, which King Louis had accepted even as Rochefort started to talk against it. 

“You have to listen to this young man, Rochefort. He is very experienced and he knows how to protect an area.”

        Finally they had finished their first meeting and both of them had returned to the garrison. D’Artagnan had spotted Porthos and went to join him for dinner and Tréville had hurried back to his office and was now sitting next to Athos.

_ Oh Athos, you would have been proud of our young Gascon. Rochefort tried to provoke him several times and every time, either he ignored it or he gave a witty answer, that made the King laugh. He is a natural leader. Such as …  _

        He was interrupted in his thoughts by a loud groan. With a start Athos had woken up. He was shaking and his chest must have started to hurt again. Obviously puzzled, he tried to rub the pain  away with his shaking hand. Another moan escaped his mouth as his breath became erratic mirroring the furious heartbeats pounding in his chest. 

“Easy, easy, Athos!”

        Groggily and a bit irritated Athos opened his feverish eyes.

“What is it Athos, where does it hurt?” Captain Tréville asked him worriedly.

“Ca  .. pta … in” Athos slurred. He had troubles speaking. “What …?” He began and Tréville completed his question by answering him:

“I wanted to check on you.”

        The pain in Athos’ chest had vanished again and he relaxed a little. 

“I am sorryyyy … Th … aa  tt …”

“Shhh, Athos, no need to be sorry. Each of us can be ill from time to time. Are you thirsty? Aramis added some honey in this tea to ease your throat ...” 

        Athos nodded exhausted.

“Come on, I will help you!”

        Tréville stood up, came behind his officer and before Athos could stop it, he had pulled him in an upright position and put two more pillows at his back. Athos felt somewhat ashamed, but he was too spent to fight against the help of his Captain. On the contrary, he suddenly felt very comfortable and grateful for Tréville’s presence and caring help.

“Do you think you can manage to hold the cup on your own?” Tréville asked slowly, to give his Lieutenant a bit of his pride back.

“I will try!” Athos said very softly.

        Carefully he gave the cup to Athos who managed a few gulps, but stopped soon. His throat was on fire.

“What is it?” Tréville asked irritated as Athos wanted to give him the cup back. “Too hot?”

“No ... But my throat hurts.”

“Try to drink a little more!” He encouraged Athos. “Aramis says it is important for you to drink more.”

“Where is Aramis?” 

        Athos felt a bit ashamed of not having asked earlier. He and Porthos had looked after him all day long.

“I have sent him to eat and rest a bit. He will be back in half an hour.”

“Can I have some water instead? Athos pleaded.

        Tréville looked around. He found a cup and filled it with fresh water. Athos drank the whole cup. Tréville noticed that his officer was in pain but had followed the Captain’s order and managed to drink all the water. 

“How are you Athos? And I want the whole story and not the version you gave Aramis yesterday, before the tournament: Your “ _ I am fine _ !, does not work with me!”

        Athos sighed. How was he? He slowly checked his body. Tréville already thought that he would not give him an answer, but Athos started slowly:

“I have a head … ache, my throat hu … rtttsss, and I think I have a fev … er.” Athos managed. “And I think … I … am …. loo .. si … g …. my … mind.” He panted. “I can’t concen … trate, I am forg … etting … things …” 

        Suddenly Athos’ eyes welled up with tears and he started to weep soundlessly. He tried to hide his feelings, but he failed. Tréville, slightly taken aback by the emotional outburst of his Lieutenant, gathered himself very fast.

“Shhh, Athos. It’s alright. No need to hide your tears. You don’t feel well, right now, but you will! Promise. Maybe you have caught the flu. It will take you a while to be better again, but you will be alright soon.”

        Athos’ whole body started to shake as he cried more and more. 

“I want it to stop. I want to feel better again, but …”

“You will, Athos, you will. Give it time!”

“I am so sorry, Cap …!”

“Don’t be, Athos. Everything will be fine again. Promise!” 

        Tréville smiled at Athos and made sure that the Lieutenant made eye contact with him. Athos’ eyes began to droop and the fatigue conquered his body.

“Don’t lea … ve me alone, pl … se!” He slurred as his right hand reached for Tréville’s. 

        Tréville pressed his fingers gently and kept them in his hand, while Athos lost his fight to stay awake. As exhaustion won out over his body, finally, his hand fell weakly beside him and he loosened the grip he had on Tréville’s hand. The Captain stood up, lifted Athos’ head cautiously and removed the pillows. Then he laid him back. Softly, he pressed Athos’ right hand again before putting it under the warm blanket. He smoothed the blanket and let his hand rest on Athos’ right shoulder.

“No worries, I will not leave you.” He softly said into Athos’ right ear.

        Rarely had he seen his Lieutenant that emotional. And it took all of Tréville’s willpower to stay calm. He desperately wanted to punch something right now. It was not fair seeing Athos suffering like that. Hadn’t this man endured enough already? The loss of his brother, the loss of his wife, who somehow had come back and sown trouble and death in her wake. The loss of his title as a Comte, which he had left behind as he came to Paris … 

        Helplessly he looked at the weak form of the patient lying next to him and he started to pray that his fine and competent soldier would soon be on the mend. He waited until Aramis came back later. Then, he slowly made his way back to his own quarters appalled about Athos’ state of health.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

**_Sunday, 1st of June_ **

**_Athos’ room_ **

        Aramis tried to stifle a yawn. He  rose from his chair. It was early morning, still dark outside, and he had barely slept the last two nights. His natural high spirits were gone, instead his hazelnut brown eyes showed sorrow. His back to his ill brother, for the first time in hours, he was staring at the courtyard through the dirty glass of the half-open window. Life was slowly returning outside. Sleepy musketeers were gathering below the balcony, trying to  avoid the big muddy puddles created in the dirt by the last rains. The pale rosy light of this sad dawn was trying to make its way through heavy slate grey clouds.  _ “Another rainy day” _ , Aramis mused. He sighed and raised his head. He stretched his stiff neck and righted his hair and moustache as a matter of habit! 

“ How is he?” 

        Tréville had entered the room as quietly as possible and Aramis looked up in surprise. In the dim light that a nearly burned down candle was providing, Aramis could see the exhaustion and worry in his Captain’s eyes. He sat down again taking Athos’ limp right hand in his . It felt hot, much too hot, like the rest of Athos’ body. 

“His fever has increased tonight,” he sighed. “And he had this horrible nightmare about Rochefort again.”

“ How can I help?” Tréville whispered.

“ If he isn’t better in the next few hours, I would like you to send for Doctor Lemay, Captain!” 

        Tréville raised an eyebrow. Aramis had usually enough knowledge to treat a cold. 

“I have tried several herbs, have given him a lot of tea to drink, but nothing seems to work or help to break the fever. So, I guess, another opinion wouldn’t hurt!” 

        Aramis stood up from his chair and walked a few steps in the room, stretching himself. His look went back to Athos who was still in a restless sleep, breath uneven. Aramis fetched a wet cloth, moved back to the bed and started to gently wipe away the sweat on his brother’s face. For a moment he studied the closed eyes of his friend then he touched lightly his clammy shoulder, turned around to Tréville and sucked in a deep breath.      

“I guess I need some fresh air, to gather my own strength. In the meantime can you please stay with him, I need to eat something. And I want to ask Serge if he still has some warm broth. He shouldn’t be alone if he wakes up. Maybe he will want something to drink again and right now he is too weak to even hold a cup.”

“Sure!” 

        Tréville moved to the unoccupied chair and sat down slowly as Aramis left the room. The Captain checked his ill Musketeer. The blanket which should keep him warm had slid away from his upper chest and Tréville rose to put it up again. Aramis would have done that, if the medic hadn’t been overtired. The sweat had returned to the face of the sleeping patient. And the Captain did not mind at all taking care of one of his best soldiers. He gently wiped the new sweat away. 

“Come on son, fight this, it’s about time for you to wake up!” He said quietly, more to himself than to the unresponsive patient, who was now still sleeping restlessly.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Outside, Aramis was greeted by thick drops. The horrible rain had brought his brother  to this situation. It had started three days ago. He should have told Athos to take it easy after he had seen the first signs of a cold on his face two days ago. But  _ “wait” _ , he had told him. Aramis sighed. He was too tired. He knew that he couldn’t change another person, and he knew his brother too well. A  _ little cold _ -as he had expressed it two days ago-, would not have kept him in his quarters and for sure he wouldn’t take it easy for the rest of the week. 

“Oh, one day your stubbornness will get you killed!” Aramis said aloud to himself with a pang of sorrow. 

        But he truly hoped that it wouldn’t be this time. With a prayer he sent to God by touching his precious crucifix, he made it to the kitchen to find Serge and ask for some broth for Athos and some bread and cheese for himself. Because he had noticed that he was starving.

        Just as he went  to open the door, d’Artagnan came out. They nearly collided.

“How is he?” 

        The young Gascon was as much concerned as the rest of them all. Aramis could see that in the look d’Artagnan gave him at this moment. His big brown eyes were wide, questioning …

“Still not better! I hope that some broth can help to lower his fever.”

“I can go to Serge and ask him for some broth!” D’Artagnan offered. 

        They all had slept little in the past few days, but at least d’Artagnan had slept more than Aramis. They had decided to take turns and so d’Artagnan and Porthos were more than once thrown out of the patient’s room in order to get some rest and sleep for themselves. Aramis had pointed out to them, that he did not want to cure two more stubborn and ill Musketeers. One was already enough! They had listened to him, knowing very well that Aramis would not listen to his own advice.

        A weak smile formed itself on Aramis’ lips and he said: 

 “Please, go ahead, just make sure that the broth has been boiled really hot and give it in small amounts to our dear patient. He is not awake right now, so I guess we should wait about half an hour and let him rest a little longer, before we wake him to give him the broth. In the meantime, I will try to eat something. We will all need strength.” 

“Don’t worry I had an excellent medic as a teacher!” D’Artagnan shouted back over his shoulder before he returned in a hurry in the direction he had just come from. 

        Aramis only shook his head shortly before following his comrade.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

_ He is alone. Alone to watch this part of the castle where they have been assigned during the visit of a few members of the young Queen Anne’s family. They haven’t been allowed to stay together. Why? Athos wonders. Tréville has assigned a group of twenty-five musketeers to this stupid and boring mission by orders of Richelieu. It should be enough to keep watch in front of each room of these noblemen and women, and even in front of each of their horse boxes. Ridiculous.  _

_ He is alone. Alone at the end of this long corridor. So long. So alone. He misses them. Why?  _

_ He is alone. He doesn't even know why he must stay here rather than in front of the huge pale green door closing the apartments of the young Ana-Josefa. A lovely seventeen-year-old little porcelain doll with black ringlets and dark sapphire eyes. _

_ He is alone. He is sweating under his leathers. It’s so hot in that long corridor. He can’t keep his eyes open … And … In the silence … footsteps… but he is alone in this long corridor. He must have dreamt.  _

_ He is alone. And it’s so hot in this corridor. The floor shines. It’s a river of hot honey. Athos’ feet burn in his boots and he is alone. Suddenly … a scream … He turns back, staring at the pale green door. How can that happen? He runs, runs, runs on the shiny floor. He runs, runs, she screams, screams ...  _

_ He is alone. So alone ... _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Back from the kitchen, d’Artagnan slowly pushed the door of Athos’ room. Carefully he carried the hot broth. The hot earthenware of the pot was burning his hands. He realised that he had held his breath since he had put a foot into the room. Anxious at what he would find. At how his big brother would be. In the room the air was sticky and he wasn’t sure if he would be allowed to open the window. 

He tried to breathe properly and to be as quiet as possible. Tréville nodded to him silently. D’Artagnan waited in a respectful distance. He had hoped that his mentor would have been better by now, but the early dim morninglight -due to the rain- that now came through the window, let him see the opposite picture. Athos’ face was still reddish. His usual light complexion had changed due to the high fever. He was sleeping, his eyes closed, and his breathing not regular enough. D’Artagnan was shocked. He felt tears well up in his eyes and wiped them angrily. He had to be strong. Athos needed him to be strong.  _ “But it’s only a cold or at worst a flu, he will fight it.” _ He told himself. 

        His mentor and guide, who always managed to not show too many feelings, started to be agitated, thrashing his head from side to side and tried to rip his blanket from the bed.  Tréville stood up and tried to calm him putting the feverish hands under the blanket again. 

“Calm down, Athos! Calm! ... d’Artagnan, put that damn pot on the table and help me!”  

        D’Artagnan was frozen, still a foot away from the door, unable to move. As his shocked mind started to realise that he had to help his Captain, suddenly, without warning, Athos woke up, eyes wide and sat up, screaming: 

“Believe me, I will kill you. Your days are numbered!”

        D’Artagnan jumped and watched helplessly as three things happened at the same time before his amazed eyes.

        Athos gripped Tréville’s neck and squeezed it with his long fingers, knuckles white with his efforts to destroy his enemy.

        D’Artagnan dropped the bowl which crushed on the floor spreading his greasy content on the dusty tiles.

        The door swung open and Porthos came in.

        After only half a second of hesitation - the moment it took him to register the terrifying scene- the big man pushed the unmoving d’Artagnan away to throw himself onto the bed. 

“Athos! Please, stop that!” Tréville shouted already suffocating. “Wake up! I don’t want to hurt you!”

        He gripped the other man’s wrists. But Athos wouldn’t let him go. A furious, mad haunted look blackened, his feverish shining eyes. He tightened his hold, sweating, panting … 

_ Why are you here? Don’t touch me, you devilish creature! I am not afraid of you. Why are you here? You won’t finish me. You tried, oh, how often you tried to destroy me! But you couldn’t and now, you are back to finish your dirty work … You will die ... _

        The former Comte felt an intense pain in his chest. As if Porthos had hit him several times with his strong fists. He could hear the throbbing of his heart in his ears.

_         Boom, boom, boom ….  _

        Much too fast. The pain was horrible.

“You will die. You deserve to die!” He shouted, leaning forward a little more.

_ Haven’t you already sown enough death on your road? You need one more …?  I won’t let it happen … Ah, you are struggling under my hand … Surrender…  My God, you are not human … this figure … These bright cruel pale eyes … Why are you here again …? I will kill you before you hurt anyone else … You won’t kill my brothers … My fingers hurt, I can feel your weakening pulse under my palm … Your dark blood will soon stop feeding your heinous heart … I will help you to meet your creator, God or Devil … Devil … Devil ... _

        Angrily throwing away the pillows, Porthos slid behind Athos and encircled his waist with his strong arms as Tréville’s face began to darken. He laid his head against Athos’ temple, murmuring reassuring words in his ear. Then he began to gently move his hands, in an almost caressing way, up Athos’ side then down his arms. He seized his wrists where Tréville’s fingers had begun to lose their strength. Tanned long fingers against white thin wrists, he continued his calming whispering … 

“Easy, easy, woah, come on Athos, it’s us. You are safe.” 

        D’Artagnan had his back against the far wall of the room, next to the door. Arms crossed on his chest, hands tucked under his armpits, staring at the scene. His face was that of a terrified child. He could hear some of Porthos’ words, his voice softly rumbling, almost purring.

“Athos, stop it, it’s a dream, just a dream. This is not real. Calm down. Listen to my voice, let him go, my friend … Remember … It’s your Captain … Listen to me … Breathe with me … Shh … Open your eyes, let go ...”

_ Wh … wat …? You are not alone … God, someone is helping you … I can’t let go … But that voice … I can’t help but listen to that soft thunder at my back… But no… I must fight … I must destroy you … Even this voice will be broken by your hate … I can’t let this happen … I know that voice … I want to lean into its comfort … But I can’t … I mustn’t … Must finish my work … Oh God, it’s so painful … I … You … _

        Tréville was still weakly fighting to pry open the claws-like fingers. He was panting and his eyes were becoming bloodshot. 

Helpless, Porthos swore out loud. This wasn’t good. Not at all. 

“I am sorry Athos.” 

        With an angry cry he clenched his fingers into a fist and hit his brother. Athos went limp. His head fell down on Tréville’s chest. Finally his hands loosened the strong grip around Tréville’s neck, arms limp.

        Tréville stumbled back, extricating himself from under his Lieutenant’s now unresponsive body, and ended up on the floor. Backside first, legs following. If it hadn’t been such a serious situation, Porthos would have laughed out loud. Instead he had tears in his eyes, which he tried to blink away, and he was busy laying Athos’ head back onto the soft, but soaked pillow. He gently massaged the spot where his fist had just hit his brother and then, looking for the cloth, he dunked it in the basin and pressed it to his brother’s temple.

“Guess we have to find him a new pillow.” Porthos said in a monotone voice. Not s ure of what  had just happened and still in shock that he had to hurt his friend. 

        Gasping for air, Tréville tried to speak.

“What … the hell. What is ... is ... t … is?” 

        He was seized by cough. Turning towards d’Artagnan, Porthos told the scared young man:

“Pull yourself together, lad, go and fetch Aramis, NOW!”

“But … I … I can …” D’Artagnan began, in a trembling low voice, moving towards the bed, slightly slipping on the dirty floor. 

“NOW! I can manage… for now! GO!”

_ Why? Why does he ask my little brother to leave. What has he done? No, I want him there … But he must have done something wrong … He is so hot headed … But what has he done? I can’t remember. Oh, no! What is it? My … mind … seems so … empty… Everything hurts … What did I just think? I can’t remember. It’s like walking in a dark corridor. My mind becomes blank and suddenly I am overwhelmed by memories and feelings and oh, so  much  pain … then … it is blank again. I should try to open my eyes … I … must be sleeping … Alright, I try … What’s the matter with me? I can only see the ceiling but it’s moving … like a wheel … The ceiling is turning like the wheel of a carriage … I can’t see the walls or the window … Where is the light …? Everything is dark around, as if I was wearing horse blinkers … my world is shrinking ... What’s the matter…? My chest is so clenched around my heart … Please, make this pain go away … I … I… _

**_To be continued ..._ **


	7. I won't tell you ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay.
> 
> Please, let us know what you think of our story. We need your nice words. ☺☺
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> Thank you Beth and Helensg for the second proofreading.  
> All the remaining errors are ours.
> 
> ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

 

**_Half an hour earlier, in the garrison mess…_ **

         When Porthos emerged from his room eager to find something to eat, eyes still half closed and a little bleary from not enough sleep, he was surprised to find Aramis hunched over a table in the farthest corner of the mess. He usually withdrew that way in order to read his small leather bound Bible between meals and duties, but this wasn’t right, not today, as he should have already been in _medic mode_ , Porthos thought. The man noticed, as he approached the table, that a plate filled with cheese, brown bread and two apples, was waiting for Aramis to break the fast of this short night.

 

“Aramis?” Porthos, called, voice low.

Aramis had his head in his hands, fingers clutching tightly at his dark curls.

“Aramis,” Porthos tried again, stepping forward.

 

        No reaction. What was the matter? Had he fallen ill as well and caught that nasty cold from Athos? Porthos became anxious and put a tentative hand on Aramis’ bent shoulder. The man jumped violently, as if he had been awoken by his friend’s gentle gesture. Porthos sat down beside him, his hand back on the man’s shoulder.

 

“Aramis, what’s the matter?

“... Don’t know… Sorry… I… I…,” He bleated in the voice of a child caught in a guilty act.

“Aramis, calm down, I just want to know how you feel?”

“Me, how I feel ?   Why are you asking?”

“Don’t know. You’re here, alone, and this plate begs to be emptied.”

“Feel free to help with that,” Aramis replied mournfully, shrugging to dislodge Porthos’ hand.

 

         He sighed, tugged at his long hair and suddenly, he raised his head and looked straight into Porthos’ eyes.

 

“I am scared, Porthos.”  

Porthos moved his chair closer, his comforting hand now on Aramis’ forearm.

“Hey, Aramis, don’t do that, please.”

“But, I…”

“You nothing, you’re tired, we’re all  tired and we aren’t used to seeing Athos like this, but he will be fine. You will see.”

“There’s something unusual, that I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like a foreboding.” Aramis grumbled .

“I can give a name to your foreboding, it’s exhaustion, so now, eat, drink, drink water I mean, and sleep for half an hour, and that’s an order!”

“Since when do you give me orders?”

“Since you are not yourself. In a minute you  will tell me that Athos has been bewitched. So, yes, I am giving you orders because I need my sensible friend back, is that clear?”

“Noted”, Aramis nodded dutifully reaching for his waiting plate.

       

        Before leaving, Porthos stole a slice of bread, laughing. His smile soon fade as he walked towards Athos’ room.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Later…_ **

        Aramis could hear Tréville’s and Porthos’ voices at the far end of the corridor leading to Athos’ room. Something was wrong, very wrong, both men seemed to be in some  kind of stress otherwise they would not have started shouting like that and only one reason could be the cause of their agitation. Athos’ state must be worse. Aramis quickened his pace and started running, followed by a still breathless Gascon, who had filled him in about what had occurred earlier. Athos hallucinating was not a good sign, this meant that he was still in the grip of a very high fever. _That stupid, horrible cold_. They both reached the door and opened it without knocking. The scene they witnessed made d'Artagnan gasp, while Aramis hurried next to his bedridden friend. Athos was lying in his bed and shaking horribly. The convulsions running through his body shook every single extremity. His body arched in an impossible posture and his head was tossing  from right to left and back. His arms and hands were shaking uncontrollably and his body was trembling. His jaws were squeezed so tight that d’Artagnan, watching the scene in a state of trance, stupidly and uselessly thought that he would break his teeth. Athos’s eyes were rolling back, more white than iris visible. Tréville shouted at Porthos to hold Athos’ legs still, while he tried to keep his upper body on the bed.

 

“Come on, Athos stop it. Dammit, you’ll  only hurt yourself!” Tréville shouted in an anxious tone.

 

_Why are they hurting me? Who are they? Leave me alone… Why don’t they allow me to sleep…? I don’t want to leave… Why are they restraining me?  I just want to sleep… No need to tie me onto the bed… My head… my head… The captain… he is angry… what have I done? My world is narrowing… The ceiling…. I can’t see it… Please, let me go and bring me some light…_

 

        Aramis laid a hand on the back of his Captain and stepped beside him.

 

“The fever is causing this seizure.”

 

        He ran a hand through his dark hair. A look into Porthos’ eyes told him everything. His best friend was pleading with his dark eyes to ease the pain of their brother. Together, they tried to calm Athos, Tréville gripping his right ankle, Porthos his left, and Aramis, now sitting at the bedhead behind Athos, both hands on his shoulder, murmuring comforting and pleading words into his ear. Nothing seemed to work, Athos seemed to fight them and fight his own body even more. Thick tears were rolling down  his cheeks now, and his face already flushed, was bearing a strange dark-red tinge, leaving only the eye contours in a scary translucent white. A trickle of saliva passed through his clenched jaws. Aramis felt a shiver running up his spine when he noticed some pink in this saliva… _Blood_ , he mused. Hopefully, Athos had only bitten his tongue, but Aramis couldn’t help but think of something worse.  

 

“Captain, can you please send for Dr. Lemay? We need a second opinion about what we can give Athos to break his fever. Maybe he knows some herbs we can give him.”

“Easy Athos, easy … ” Porthos soothed from behind him.

“Stop it, you are hurting him!”  Their youngest brother suddenly cried.

 

        The three older men stood up as one. Porthos a little more slowly,  gripping his thigh and trying not to wince. It wasn’t the time or the place but this wound was still painful.  D’Artagnan’s voice had been more commanding than they had ever heard it. Now, the young man was looking at them sheepishly thinking:

 _I could tell you why I know what to do, as this memory will never leave my mind. One day, when all is over, **I will tell you. I will tell you** how Basile was trying to climb onto the neighbour’s orchard wall to steal his plums. He was a little younger than me and I should have helped him but I only laughed at his repeated failures. **I will tell you** how children are sometimes cruel. **I will tell you** how he tried one last time, and suddenly fell. I thought he had fallen because of one of the unsteady stones of the old wall, but when I came to him, I realised that it wasn’t that… **I will tell you** how I didn’t know what to do… How I felt so useless, terrified and how I felt so... young. I will tell you how I stared helplessly as my friend’s body arched and went so tense that I thought it would break like a twig. **I will tell you** how I saw, through my tears, his jaws clenching, his saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth. **I will tell you** how I suddenly ran away from him, towards his father’s farm. It was not cowardice, I had told myself, just the need to find someone to help. Then everything  happened so quickly. Adults were comforting me, explaining to me how to react in such a case, saying the words _ “haut mal*”, _carrying Basile to his bed where he  slept for two days. **I will tell you** how I was afraid of him because he had bitten his tongue and his speech had been slurred for days… **I will tell you** how it happened many times, how I knew from this day on what to do… But **I WON’T TELL YOU** how it ended… Because I mustn’t, because it’s too hard to think of Athos having the same fate… Because Athos is not a child, Athos is strong and he mustn’t leave me as everybody left me..._

 

“Please…” He said in a hushed pleading tone, blinking back tears. “I know how it works. Let me do this. Just, you must know that there is nothing you can do, just wait.”

“But…”  Aramis tried.

“He is suffering”, Porthos added.

“Yes, but we can’t help him right  now.”

 

        That said, he approached the fighting body. He crouched at the head of the bed, his lips just a few millimeters away from Athos’ left ear. And he began to speak in a language Tréville recognised as Gascon, he began to talk to Athos. A prayer-like litany, spoken in his warm hushed voice, the sound reminding the listeners of a stream over pebbles. He didn’t touch the man, as if not to frighten him, but he had put his left hand above his head on the pillow… Not touching but almost, just to make the other man feel his presence.

 

_A voice… Not an angry one this time, are they not angry anymore? Did I do well…? This voice… My little brother… He came back… They forgave him… What did they have to forgive…? I can’t remember… I have to bask in the warmth of this voice. I must… It doesn’t hurt my head…It’s like a purring…  It takes the fear away, it takes the darkness away, it takes the shadows away… I can’t remember… I want to sleep so badly… I feel something in my mouth… blood… it tastes like blood… Why? Am I hurt? I can’t remember… I want to sleep… There is warmth above my head… Someone is whispering in my ear… I can’t understand the words… Am I dreaming…?  The pain is decreasing… I want to sleep… Hush, my brother, I must sleep now… No, don’t stop… I need… I want… I…_

        D’Artagnan heard a scratching noise and an unsteady breath behind him. Porthos had sat down and without seeing the big man, d'Artagnan could feel his emotions. He knew that the giant was the most emotional of them all, but it was not the only reason. The young man remembered the trial of the last days. Porthos had been badly wounded and hadn’t shown his pain… As he was speaking and thinking, he almost missed a change in Athos’ state. He seemed less tense, and his head had rolled a little towards d’Artagnan, as if in his unconscious state, Athos was trying to locate the young man. As if he was the only thing that could bring him back to life, the rope that could take him out of these cold dark waters. Suddenly, the seizure stopped and his arched body fell back onto the mattress, limp, and under the amazed gazes of the four other men, Athos fell asleep, even snoring softly.

        A few seconds later, or minutes, he couldn't tell, Aramis slowly stood up from the trunk where he had sat down exhausted and he quietly approached the two men, mindful not to make too much noise. He crouched beside d’Artagnan and cupped Athos’ cheek with a trembling hand. Athos’ eyes were half opened, Aramis could see watery green eyes. He was awake.

 

“Welcome back.” He greeted softly, while d'Artagnan continued whispering words that Aramis couldn’t understand.

Athos wanted to speak but his throat was too dry and all he could manage was:

“Hu.. r.. ss”.

“I know my friend, I know. Don’t try to speak, I will give you some water.”

He looked for the cup, but Porthos was already holding it in his hand. D’Artagnan gently raised his mentor’s head and Porthos held the cup to his lips.

“Easy, only a few sips ... That’s good … ” Aramis encouraged the swordsman.

 

        After three sips Athos turned his head away. His throat hurt like fire.

 

“ … mis … huzz” he murmured.

        He closed his eyes again.

“Where does it hurt, Athos? Can you tell me? We want to help you, but we need to know where the pain is.”

      

        Athos tried to breathe in, but was shaken by a cough. Aramis gestured to Porthos and d'Artagnan to help Athos sit upright. Tréville fetched a few more pillows and together they sat the sick man up in his bed, the cough stopped. Athos whispered:

“My throat …. sto…..”

      

        With his right hand which was still slightly shaking he pointed at his belly.

 

“Your stomach hurts …  Hmm … Any other pain?”

 

        Athos squeezed his eyes shut, another cough wracked his body.

 

“My h... ead.”

 

        Aramis laid a refreshing hand on Athos’ still burning forehead.

 

“Rest my friend, try to sleep a little. I will make a pain potion with willow bark. That should help you to ease the pain and reduce the fever. We will wake you in a moment. For now try to sleep.”

“Willow bark?” Tréville asked surprised.

“Yes, I read it in a book. Actually, in several books. Dioscoride, a greek physician, describes its use. He used to make a decoction with the bark of this tree, mixing it with honey and even better with rose honey. He gave this decoction to women in labor to ease their pain and a few centuries ago, it was used to reduce the fever. Sadly, now, our good doctors seem to have better ineffective remedies like leeches or bloodletting, but I trust the elders and not our doctors who hide their ignorance behind latin words.” He finished angrily.

“Wow, impressive!” Porthos whispered in awe of his friend’s knowledge.

 

        Aramis stroked Athos’ thick and wet hair then he grabbed his blanket and pulled it up again. Some new sweat had formed on Athos’ forehead and Tréville was already busy sponging Athos’ face. D’Artagnan had stepped back again.

 

“Come here, son. Tréville ordered in a low voice. Can you continue?”

 

        He pressed the cloth into his youngest Musketeer’s hand and let him take his place, while he gestured to Porthos and Aramis to follow him outside the room. There, he spoke anxiously:

“It’s becoming worse every hour.”

“I know, Captain.”

Aramis looked in the still reddish face of his Captain. His blue eyes seemed darker, and bore the hint of the fear he had experienced a moment ago.

“What do you need? I will ask Serge to give you everything you need.”

“Where are you going, Captain?” Porthos asked curiously.

“I will go to the palace and make sure I find Dr. Lemay myself and bring him here as fast as possible.”

 

        With these words he left both his stunned men who came back to Athos’ bedside. Porthos was the first to speak.

 

“That was…”

“Terrifying.” Aramis completed.

“Painful, terrible, frightening.”,  d’Artagnan added. “But, usually, it’s not really dangerous. Even if sometimes…”

“Sometimes, what?”  Porthos asked anxiously.

“Nothing”,  d’Artagnan murmured, very concentrated on his boots.

 

        And suddenly Porthos was standing, menacing, his angry face just a few inches away from the young man’s, a fistful of d'Artagnan’s jacket in each large hand.

 

“You said, ‘ _even if sometimes’_ ,  Now spit it out, we are not children, tell us!”

“I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”  Porthos shouted.

 

        Aramis came behind the big man and squeezed his shoulder.

 

“Porthos, don’t wake Athos, please. Leave d’Artagnan alone.   

“And if he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will, my friend, he **will!”**

“Yes, Porthos, it’s over, now and… I wanted to say that sometimes...sometimes…”

“Try again”,  Porthos growled.

“Sometimes the heart is not strong enough.” D’Artagnan whispered.

 

        Porthos sat down again, breathing heavily.

 

“So, we need to reduce this fever, convulsions are common in cases of such a high temperature.” Aramis said.

“So… What do we do now?” d’Artagnan asked.

“We wait for Lemay,” Aramis replied.

 

        The three men didn’t move. Each of them looking at something, somewhere, anywhere but at Athos, as if they were afraid of the man’s weakness. As if looking at him would wake up the fury they had just witnessed…

        D’Artagnan was the first to react. Turning  his head slowly toward the narrow bed, he watched Athos’ chest rise with an alarming lack of regularity, but it was rising. Athos was still alive, and they were here, on three chairs a few feet away from the bed and yet, in his unconsciousness, Athos missed the touch, the voices and comfort of his friends?

  
        The young man stood up and taking his chair with him, he approached the bed. After settling the chair, he went to the round table which Athos used as a dressing table. He took a moment to make the inventory of the objects on the dusty wood. A sharp thin blade, a brownish soap smelling slightly of lavender and olive oil, a broken mirror, a hair brush, a pot of some balm, maybe a present from Aramis, and to d'Artagnan’s astonishment, two dry blue flowers tied with a black velvet ribbon… The young man felt a pang of fear… Why had he kept those flowers? Couldn’t he forget this devilish creature? D’Artagnan chose not to tell the others, no need to worry them more. He took the basin where Aramis had poured fresh water and a cloth, then he came back to the bed and sat down ready to bath his mentor’s neck and chest in order to try to ease his pain and reduce  the fever a little. For the first time since the terrible trial of the fire in Pinon, he dared to touch him, and he began to drop water onto Athos’ neck by pressing the soaked cloth above him, he put the back of his other hand on the man’s forehead. He removed it quickly.

 

“D’Artagnan, what’s the matter?”  Aramis asked.

 

        He had seen all the young man’s movements but didn’t want to interfere, aware that the young man had been the more capable of making Athos feel better, if not physically at least psychologically.

 

“He is so hot.” The young man muttered. “It’s horrible.”

 

        Aramis sighed. Porthos’ head had fallen onto his chest as the man was dozing, exhausted by the trial of the day and the pain in his wounded limb. Aramis watched him with a fond smile and then turned his look towards d’Artagnan again as the young man called softly :

“Aramis, can you come here, please ?”

“What’s the matter?”

 

        When he approached the bed, he understood what d’Artagnan had seen. The acrid smell was an obvious clue of what had happened… Now it was time to wake Porthos up and to take d’Artagnan away. He didn’t have to watch the process of undressing and cleaning Athos. The older man wouldn’t forgive them for letting this happen, and Aramis assumed that he would hardly forgive them for doing it ... and he would never forgive himself for having been in that shameful state.

 

“It’s normal, d’Artagnan. He is deeply asleep and, I don’t know if you noticed it, but he has drunk a lot the last three days, obviously to ease the pain in his throat. Why don’t you go to my room and take one of my undergarments?”

“But, he must …”

“Yes, he must, but I don’t trust Athos with his laundry. Look at the dust in here. If the linens are in the same state …”

“Fine, I will go… How much time do you need ?”  D’Artagnan asked mischievously.

“Wha …”

“I am not so naive, Aramis. I understand, don’t worry.” d’Artagnan interrupted.

 

        Porthos, now fully awake, sent a wink to Aramis who smiled. The brightest smile he could manage.

 

“Now, what ?” Porthos asked after the door had closed behind the young man.

“Now you will have to help me. First I will try to find something in his trunk. No, stay here, rest your leg, you will need your strength in a moment.”

 

        Aramis turned to the far corner of the room and as quietly as he could, he raised the heavy lid. He found a few shirts, trousers and undergarments. None of them was folded. They had been thrown haphazardly in the big chest. He reached a hand towards the bottom of the trunk and found what he was looking for. As he came back to the bed, he found Porthos looking at Athos with such a sad expression that he winced.

 

“Hey, Porthos. He will be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?,   and you, aren’t you worrying right now?”  Porthos snorted.

“E r… yes, of course … like every time one of you is hurt or ill. This time is no…”

“... Not the same.” Porthos completed, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

 

        Aramis sighed. No, this time, it was different, a broken bone or a bullet in an arm, he could manage, even an axe in Porthos’ back but this, this was unknown to him. Nevertheless, he had to be strong, for Athos, for Porthos, for all of them. Easier said than done.

 

“Help me please. We will have to do it very carefully and try not to wake him up. First, we will have to change the sheets.”

“And how do you think you will manage that ?”

“I don’t know… Then, we will undress him, just his under cloth -he will keep his shirt- and dress him with a new one.”

 

        And the process began. Long, tiring, worrying as Athos stayed unconscious.They were both glad about that fact. Athos would have felt much too ashamed and in his already weak state, it would not help his recovery but dressing him was like dressing a rag doll, a heavy rag doll. Before dressing him again they had washed him with a cloth soaked in warm water. Not they, he, Aramis… because Porthos who had helped to lay Athos on the thick blue blanket spread on the floor, who had helped with the sheets, didn’t want to see Athos so vulnerable and naked, he felt as though he was betraying him. So he let Aramis undress him, wash him and dress him again.  

        At last, Porthos sat back in a chair next to the bed, exhausted. Aramis approached him and gave him a wet cloth, colder than the one he had used earlier. Porthos raised his head, questioningly.

 

“Yes ?”

“Do it, please. I need to put these soiled linens outside”.

 

        Before gathering the sheets and clothes, he squeezed Porthos’ shoulder and threw him an understanding look. Porthos nodded gratefully, he needed to make amends for his inability to help earlier, to make amends to Aramis, to Athos. So, with the utmost gentleness, he began to bath Athos’ face, neck and nape, until he felt a little calmer.

        Athos’ breathing settled under Porthos tender care and as Aramis returned he felt for the first time in hours some kind of relief, that with the help of Porthos and d'Artagnan they would fight Athos’ illness.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_Screaming. Running. Breathing._

_He must run._

_The floor is slippy. His boots feel heavy. The polished floor is like hot honey. He should run faster. It’s so weird, that feeling of running, running and not moving._

_Screaming. Running. Breathing._

_The door is closer now. He could touch it._

 

_Screaming. Running. Breathing._

_Now his hand is a few inches away from the golden door knob._

_But it suddenly recedes._

_Screaming. Running. Breathing._

_Now he can seize the knob. He turns it._

_The door opens and he can see. He can hear._

_Screaming. Running. Breathing._

 

_The figure. He can see the dark figure._

_Ana-Josefa’s white silky dress. Her ringlets spread on the white bedspread._

_Screaming. Running. Breathing._

_A hand on his arm._

_Squeezing. Hurting._

_No more screaming. No more running. No more breathing._

_The trap is closing._

 

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Haut mal** : haut mal is a French term for epilepsy meaning literally "high evil" or "great sickness"


	8. Come, Doctor!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We had a technical issue with one of our documents and we lost a few corrections, so Beth sat down and corrected those chapters all over again. Thank you so much, Beth and Helensg for your work! All remaining mistakes are ours." Kirasum
> 
> Thank you for following, reading and commenting this story.  
> Your kind words are as important to us than d'Artagnan's words to Athos! ☺☺
> 
> ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

  ** _Sunday, 1st of June_**

 

        Dr. Lemay was daydreaming. He was sitting in his small office at _Le Louvre_ idly rolling a quill between his thumb and forefinger. He was so lost in thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that his fingers were now coloured in a bluish tinge from the dry ink. Thirty minutes ago, he had seen Constance and the Queen by chance, from a distance. They were both  returning from the gardens into the Queen’s apartment. She was cuddling her little baby son, healthy again in her arms. If it hadn’t been for Constance’s bravery, France would now be without a Dauphin and he, Lemay, would probably have ended up hanged. Being the personal doctor of the King could bring positive and negative aspects with it. He closed his eyes imagining how he would pull his hands through Constance’s wonderful dark-auburn hair. How he would kiss her. He sighed out loud, as a knock at the door disturbed his daydreaming.

_Be honest with yourself, this woman is married. You will never ever have the chance to be with her._

He looked at the beautiful white and golden door and exclaimed reluctantly:

“Yes, please. Come in!”  

        He stood up from his desk. The door opened and the Captain of the Musketeers entered, his black hat held in his hand. His face appeared older than usual and Lemay could see deep black rings under the man’s eyes.

“What can I do for you, Captain Tréville?” Lemay waved him into his room.

“It’s Athos” Tréville said, still holding his hat in a deadlock grip. “He seems to have a cold, but he’s not getting any better.”

“Come, take a seat.” Lemay invited Tréville.

        But the Captain shook his head.

“We don’t have time for that, I’m worried that we are going to lose him. I can explain on our way to the garrison, if you could grab your medical equipment and follow as fast as possible, please.”

        Lemay was a bit confused. A man like Athos did not fall ill so easily but on the other hand the flu could be dangerous and deadly even for the bravest men of the King. Remembering that the King’s son had had a high fever only a few days ago, it was possible that Athos now had the same symptoms.

         A sudden thought crossed his mind as he gathered his medical kit.

“If you allow Captain, I will ask Constance to join us too, she seems to have an excellent knowledge when it comes to the flu and cold.”

        He grabbed a sheet of paper that was lying on his desk, wrote -with the feather quill he had been torturing a moment ago-  a short note to Constance, explaining that she should come to the garrison, because he needed her help with curing a cold. On their way out he spotted a page and gave him the note with the order to take it to Constance immediately. Then he followed Tréville down the steps and to the waiting horses. On their way down, they nearly collided with Rochefort who was entering the palace.

“Why in such a hurry, Tréville?”

        Tréville ignored the high unnerving voice of the blond Comte, he had no time for this right now. Dr Lemay who followed was stopped by the Comte’s hand.

“Don’t you think the King should know where his doctor is heading, in the case of an emergency?”

“Yes … errr … of course.”

        A bit insecure, the doctor came to a halt, he did not like this new leader of the Red Guards. As a medical doctor he suspected that the man was mentally ill due to the fact that he had been in a Spanish prison for much too long. Prison and especially torture could break a man but he was much too smart to say his opinion aloud. The palace had ears everywhere.

“Captain Tréville has asked for help, one of his Musketeers has a bad cold.”

        Rochefort looked a bit irritated at Lemay.

“The Captain himself has come to you? Why hasn’t he sent one of his men? Hasn’t he more important things to do for the King?”

        Lemay did not know what to answer. Tréville turned back towards the reptilian blond Captain.

“The King should know about Dr. Lemay’s departure, you’re right. So, if you have nothing better to do right now, just go and tell him. Good day Rochefort. Come doctor.”

        Lemay hurried after Tréville who was nearly running now. The Captain jumped on his horse like a very young man. Rochefort looked at the rushing doctor out of one of the windows of a large hall where he had retreated, fuming with anger. Which of the Musketeers could be so important that the Captain himself came to get the King’s doctor?         

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

 

**_In the meantime in the Queen’s Apartments_ **

“I am so glad that my little boy is well again, Constance.” Queen Anne’s light blue eyes smiled brightly at Constance. She was was wearing a beautiful blue dress and held her little boy in her arms. Then she focused on her baby boy and held him up. “Oh he loves me to do this, I really wish his father would spend more time with him, but he is very busy with state affairs right now. I still can’t believe that he was so stupid to dress himself as a commoner. Sometimes I have the feeling that our son is much more adult than him.”

        Constance smiled at the Queen, but felt a shudder running down her neck, because King Louis wanted to be a normal person d’Artagnan had almost been killed.

“I am sure that the King will have much more time for the Dauphin, when he has this diplomatic banquet behind him. It’s in four days and the whole palace is already very excited. I have heard that the Duke of Savoy and his Majesty’s sister have already arrived the day before yesterday, the King must be delighted to have his sister and little nephew around. Now he can teach him more fencing tricks.” Constance said to Anne, remembering all the Queen had told her from their last visit.

“Of course he is happy that his sister is around, but he is already angry that the Duke is getting on his nerves. He wants a new and better trade pact, or he will ask Spain for better conditions.”

        Constance looked at her friend.       

“You should talk with Captain Tréville. He will find a way to calm and ease the whole situation.”

        Constance knew that after the Cardinal’s death, it was Tréville’s rational and tactful thinking that had helped the King to concentrate on important issues. Alas, in the last few weeks the relationship had cooled, after Tréville had neglected to become first minister of France. She wanted to continue, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

         A page entered and bowed slightly in the direction of the Queen and the Dauphin.

“Your Majesty, please excuse me, but I have a message for Madame Bonacieux. Dr. Lemay has asked me to give you this at once.”

        With these words he gave the paper to Constance and disappeared again. Constance wondered why Dr. Lemay would send her a message. She quickly broke the seal and read the note, she looked confused at the Queen.

“Dr. Lemay asks for my assistance, one of the Musketeers has fallen ill, they think he has the flu and he is asking for my expert knowledge.”

“Then you should go at once. You saved my son’s life and I am sure you can help this poor Musketeer too.” Anne told her.

        She sensed Constance’s fear.

“What is it, my dear friend?”

“Do you think it is d’Artagnan, who has fallen ill? Maybe something has happened to him and he has asked for me and in order not to let my husband ...”

        The Queen interrupted her:

“You know, the only way you can find out about it, is to go now. Now! Move, if it is really d’Artagnan who needs your help. He wants to see you sooner rather than later.”

        With a soft push, Anne forced her friend to leave the room. She asked one of her pages to organise a coach for her confidant so that she would be at the garrison in no time.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

**_Athos’ room_ **

        The window was closed by a brown curtain, only a few rays of daylight were allowed in the small room that Athos had called his refuge for the last six years. The remainings of last night drinking were still on the table. Empty bottles, four cups, and melted candles.

         Athos was lying unresponsive on his bed, with Aramis who was sitting next to his brother stroking over the blanket, in whích they had tucked Athos again. He was gently pressing his friend’s hand which was resting under the linen. He quietly made room for Lemay, who nodded to Aramis as he approached his sleeping patient.

         He knew Athos from the palace guard but from the strong, healthy young man, he had seen several days ago, only a shadow remained. Lemay valued Athos who was a competent soldier of the King’s Musketeers. A strategical thinker and a good leader. He always felt secure and safe when he and his friends, the so-called _Inséparables_ were around.

         Slowly he started his examination.

“How long has he been asleep now?” He asked looking around to the other concerned Musketeers, who were standing in a half circle behind him.

“He woke up about an hour ago, but he was very tired so he was only awake about ten minutes. We wanted to wake him up again, to give him some pain potion, but decided to wait until you had seen him. We bathed him and changed his clothing half an hour ago, but he slept through the whole procedure.”

        Lemay nodded.

“For my examination I will need him awake. I know he is a very private person and I don’t want to scare him right now in his condition by standing above him. Do you mind trying to wake him for me, Aramis?”

        Lemay took several steps back as Aramis kneeled beside his brother’s bed and softly gripped his hand in his own, the hand was much too warm as the rest of his body was. Aramis bent his head towards Athos’ and spoke softly into the sleeping man’s ear:

“Athos, it’s time to wake up. Dr. Lemay is here to check on you. Thanks to him you will be better in no time.” Aramis said to Athos encouragingly.

        He softly pressed Athos’ hand again. No reaction. Aramis spoke a little bit louder:

“Come on, Athos,wake up!”

        He softly touched Athos’ hot face, stroking his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, then, seeing no reaction he slapped him lightly on his left cheek.

“Mhhhhh …,” was the only reaction that Athos, made. His eyes still shut.

“You can sleep more soon. Come on, open those magical eyes of yours. Now!”

        Athos could hear someone calling his name over and over again. At first he thought it was a dream, but the pressure on his hand and face did not stop, he was confused.

_What is going on? It hurts … What is this taste in my mouth?_

        And so he drifted off again. Aramis turned to Lemay:

“I am sorry, but he is too far away.”

        Lemay stepped next to Aramis then he pushed with the knuckles of his right hand on Athos’ sternum. Athos let out a loud grunt and Porthos was nearly ready to grab Lemay and pull him away from his unconscious brother.

“Don’t stop talking to him.” Lemay encouraged Aramis.

“Athos, come on, open your eyes. The doctor is here to see you.”

“Mhhhh … g ...  oo   a ... way … mis.”

        Athos had still his eyes closed but he could feel the intense pain in the spot where the Doctor had pressed his knuckles down.

        Tréville was watching the whole process. It still hurt him to see his Lieutenant like this, Athos was lying weakly in his bed. His face still reddish from the high fever, several pillows had been placed under his head and now two blankets covered his shuddering body. The man needed sleep and rest to fight the cold, but Lemay needed him awake. The faster he could start with his examination the faster ... The Captain made a step nearer to his bedridden Lieutenant and he touched Aramis’ shoulder. The latter moved back, so that Tréville could move to the head of the bed. Tréville bowed down to the half asleep form of his swordsman and shouted.

“Wake up, Athos. This is an order!”

        D’Artagnan, back again against the wall next to the doorframe, cringed at the loud order which seemed so cruel. He could see Athos’ face flinching, his eyes were still closed, but finally he started to show the first signs of waking.

“That’s it, son.” Tréville said in a more soft tone. “Time to wake up. Can you open your eyes for us, please?” He gently touched Athos’ shoulder.

        The loud talking was back. Athos’ head was spinning.

_Who is shouting at me?_

        Suddenly the realisation hit him. It was Tréville. His Captain had just called him “son”. Something must be very wrong. Tréville never called him like that. With an immense force of willpower Athos slowly tried to speak:

“Ca … tai … n …”.             

        His throat was burning now and his tongue seemed to have doubled his size. Athos tried to ease the pain by starting to breathe more and more deeply through his now open mouth. Tréville smiled encouragingly, not that Athos could see it. He grabbed Athos’ hand and squeezed it softly.

“That’s it, come on. You can do that! Wake up!”

        Athos put all his strength together and managed to open his eyes a slit, only to close them at once again. Even the dim light in his room made his head spin.

“So ...  rry, Cap …” he slurred, unable to move his tongue without biting it again. “Hu … s mu ... hhh.” Tréville looked anxiously into the direction of Lemay.

        At that moment Aramis took over:

“Athos, try to open your eyes slowly. Dr. Lemay is here, he needs to see you.”

        With these words said, Lemay approached them again.

“Hello Athos.” He said softly. “It’s good to see you awake. I need to examine you, in order to find out what we can give you to heal you.” Lemay spoke very quietly, but Athos head started to throbb nevertheless.

        He still struggled to open his eyes so he decided to open only one, very, very slowly. Lemay noticed that Athos had started to wake and he grabbed his left hand.

“Athos, I need to check you, therefore I need to touch you. I promise, it won’t hurt much. Try to open your eyes, please. Yes, that’s good.”

        Lemay checked Athos’ pulse which was still very fast and then, he bent down to lean his ear on the man’s chest. D’Artagnan winced as Athos’ didn’t react. If he had been his usual self, Lemay would have ended up on the floor with a bruised face, no matter that he was a doctor or not. Lemay’s eyes widened.

“What?” Aramis asked anxiously.

“I don’t like that. Come here and listen.”

        Aramis did the same as the doctor and gasped, the heartbeat that hammered in the Musketeer’s chest was really worrying.

“Doctor, what about his lungs. They don’t seem congested, it’s strange don’t you think?”

“Yes, but, it’s just the beginning of the flu. We must wait,” replied Lemay bending again over his patient. Listening again to his heart and lungs.

“But you are right, the flu often begins with headaches, fever and cough.”

“His throat seems to hurt a lot.”

“So, the congested lungs may occur soon, we will have to ease his breathing by sitting him up. A cool cloth on his forehead and ankles will help to slow his heartbeat down, you could boil some water with mint leaves in the room and try to give him some of it with honey while the rest will help his lungs but for now, the lungs are fine.”

        Athos was half dozing again, weakly battering away the invasive hands of the two men, he sluggishly raised his left hand and tried to pull Lemay’s hands away but as Aramis tried to push it to the side, it fell like a dead bird onto his chest. Lemay softly slapped Athos’ cheeks to get him more focused again.

“Now, Athos, I need to check your eyes, I need both of them open. Only for one minute, I promise.”

        Athos pulled himself together and Lemay could check his pupils that were unfocused and widely enlarged.

“Alright Athos, you can close them again, but try to stay awake, I need to ask you a few questions.”                

        Athos’ head hurt even more, his pale eyes were shimmering but before closing his eyes again, he moved his head. He looked directly at Aramis, but his vision was blurred. Frustrated about what he had just discovered, he closed his eyes again. Lemay laid a comforting hand on his right arm.

“Well, Athos you seem to have symptoms of the flu. To sort out what I can give you, you have to tell me where it hurts. I will ask you a few questions and you are going to answer with yes or no. That will be easier for you. Is that okay ?”

“Yessss.” Athos managed to say very weakly.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Ye ...”

“Does your throat hurt?”

“Hmm ... L … ike fi … re,” Athos rasped.

“Do you have a pain in your stomach?”

“Ye … s.” Athos answered in a much more slurred way.

“Can you see clearly?”

“Nooo.” Athos sounded frustrated. His breathing became faster and he anxiously searched Aramis’ hand, which he couldn’t find anymore.

“That’s it, we are nearly finished. Just stay awake a few more minutes. I will give you a pain potion.”

        He beckoned Tréville and Aramis to step away from the bed in order to discuss the further treatment. The three men left the room to talk in private. Closing the door softly, they couldn’t see the look of fear and despair in Athos’ eyes as a violent pain suddenly blinded him.      

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are trying to stick to the canon of series 2. Alas, in this chapter it is a bit tricky. Aramis asks Constance about Dr. Lemay in Emilie. For our plot we assumed that Aramis already knows about him before episode 4, so we allowed ourselves to change here the timeline a little.


	9. So, it is the flu?

⚔⚔

 

**_In front of Athos’ room_ **

 

“So it is the flu?” Tréville asked, his voice filled with concern.

 

“Well, all the symptoms point to it, he has a very high fever and his heart is beating irregularly due to that fever. His eyes are unfocused, he has trouble breathing and his throat hurts him a lot. Have you noticed any other symptoms?” Lemay looked questioningly at  Aramis.  

 

“He was sick several times at the beginning of the illness, but maybe he had drunk too much the evening before.” Aramis added.

 

“Could be, but it is a common sign for flu as well and it explains why his stomach hurts.” Lemay explained.

 

“But what about his hallucination earlier? He thought I was someone else, an enemy, and he attacked me? Tréville wondered.

 

“The hallucinations are caused by the very high fever.” Lemay added.

 

“Doctor, will he be okay?” Tréville asked him. 

 

“Captain, to be honest with you. The flu is not just a simple cold. The flu can be very dangerous and it can kill people. Right now the flu epidemic we are experiencing in Paris has already killed several people but most of them were children or old people. A man like Athos, who is young, strong and well trained, has a good chance of fighting this disease and of recovering completely.” 

 

         Tréville had not noticed that he had held his own breath, but now he breathed out loudly, very relieved.             

 

“Nevertheless, he will need good care and a lot of time to recover; the coughing will start soon and so his throat will hurt more. His lungs are still free but he will need to be cared for  night and day in order to prevent him from choking on mucus and to help him with his breathing by sitting him up in his bed. You have to give him lots of fluids. Tea with honey, which will help with swallowing and easing the pain in his throat. I will give you some extra herbs to reduce his fever. This is the most important aim we have to reach. The high fever can kill him. So we will start by concentrating on this. Right now he won’t be able to eat due to his painful throat and his weak condition so try to give him hot broth instead of solid food. He will need salty nutritions and you also have to bathe him with cool clothes, especially his forehead, his hands and foot joints to slow his rapid heart beat. But don’t bath him in a tub for now, the water could kill him!”   

 

“I think we can do this. I have some herbs and teas myself, but I appreciate everything you can offer.” Aramis nodded eagerly. He hesitated then continued. “And … about … his tongue? He bit it during his seizure and it’s swollen and sore. He can’t articulate normally and it must be very painful as it rubs against his teeth when he tries to speak. What can we do?”

 

“There is nothing you can do to prevent it. So for now, lime blossom tea and honey to heal the cut and calm his pain because this kind of wound can hurt his throat too …” He paused and sighed. “Alright, I will check him over again, give him the pain potion and then I am afraid, I will have to return to the palace … You know our King, if he breaks a nail, he will need my science.”

 

         Lemay was interrupted by another Musketeer who appeared.

 

“Excuse me, Captain?” 

 

         Tréville responded gruffly: “What is it, Henri?”

 

“Madame Bonacieux is waiting downstairs. She said that the Doctor has sent for her.”

 

“Ah excellent, I asked her to come as soon as possible. She helped to cure the Dauphin from the flu and is far more experienced with treating all the symptoms than me. Please, if you allow me Captain, send her to us.”

 

         Tréville accepted Lemay’s advice with a short nod.  Constance was anxious about who she might find ill. Never before had she been in the inside of the garrison. She followed Henri to the door of Athos’ room. Her heart beat faster as she approached Lemay, Tréville and Aramis. No sign of d’Artagnan. 

 

“Doctor, Captain, Aramis. How can I help you?” She did not dare to ask if it was d’Artagnan who was ill. She heard the doctor say to Tréville: 

 

“Your man has a good chance of recovering from this ill …” He was disturbed by the opening of Athos’ door …      

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         In the meantime Porthos got up wincing again as his wounded thigh suddenly hurt as if it had received a hot ember. 

 

“Naaahh, finally you are awake. You had me worried, all of us.”    

 

         He gestured in the direction of d’Artagnan who was watching quietly, still near the doorframe, as if ready to bolt away from the room for any reason, fear, help, anything he could do, good or not. Athos imagined Porthos’ supporting smile and his now sad eyes. He forced his eyes open again. He did not want his brothers to worry about him. His shining green eyes met Porthos’ dark-brown. 

 

“There you are!” Porthos encouraged him. “I missed you today at morning muster.” 

 

         Athos wanted to grin, but it did not work. 

 

“I s...ee y...ou ...doub… ed, ...thos. H...ave I dr...unk too mu...ch ...” A coughing fit stopped Athos’ slurred talk. 

 

“Easy, easy!” Porthos waited until Athos stopped coughing.

 

         The swordsman gasped and tried to breathe in more air. His breathing was irregular. Athos managed to point with his right hand at his chest.

 

“Pa….innnnnnn.” 

 

         Porthos took Athos’ hand in his and asked. 

 

“Your chest hurts?” 

 

         Athos only managed to nod. 

 

“Easy, alright, easy. I will tell the doctor.” 

 

         Porthos wanted Athos to loosen his hand, but he fastened his grip. He was too weak to say anything more. His whole body was in pain, but Pothos’ presence gave him strength and hope. Porthos was a bit irritated, never before had Athos grabbed his hand. So he finally managed to sit on the chair Aramis had used during the last hour, held his brother’s hand and started to whisper little nothings from the mischiefs and adventures of his childhood to the funny moments of the garrison. He had no idea why but his words helped Athos to relax a little. Athos had his eyes closed again. His breathing was harsh and much too fast. Porthos turned his head to find d’Artagnan still standing and watching the whole scene. Porthos’ look … without words … was clear enough. 

 

“Get the doctor back in here, quickly. Athos needs that pain draught. Now!” 

 

         D’Artagnan made a u-turn and headed to the door, where the other three men were discussing Athos’ symptoms.

 

“Excuse me, but we think that Athos needs the pain potion. Now!” D’Artagnan interrupted the other men. Athos has told Porthos that his chest hurts.”

 

         D’Artagnan spotted Constance as Lemay and Tréville rushed back into Athos’ room. He could see the relief on her face, as she was standing in front of him but it was soon washed away with another worried glance. Constance wanted to follow Lemay and Tréville, but d’Artagnan held her back with a hand on her arm: 

 

“Wait.” He whispered in her ear and closed the door behind him.     

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Lemay hurried next to his patient’s side.

 

“Athos, it’s Doctor Lemay. Can you tell me where your chest hurts?”

 

“Hmmm?” Athos groggily slurred.

 

“Your chest. Can you tell me where it pains you?”

 

         Athos let go of Porthos’ hand and pointed at the spot right above his heart. Limply his hand fell on the spot of his chest.

 

“Hurssss … Mmgghhhhhhh ...” Athos gasped for air.

 

         Lemay bend down over Athos’ chest again and put his ear on it, laying his patient’s left hand softly on the mattress and covering it with the blanket, he listened. Athos’ heart was beating very fast and irregularly. Concerned, he let his hand rest over Athos’ shirt as he looked up.

 

“Porthos can you please get behind Athos. We need to get him in a more upright position.”

 

“Sure!” 

 

         Porthos was glad that he finally could do something. Waiting, sitting around, was nothing he could stand very long. He needed action.

 

“Alright, Athos. We will lift your upper body now.”

 

         Athos felt Porthos’ strong arms lifting his weak body into an upright position. The pain in his chest still continued and he winced out loud: 

 

“Mggnnhhh …”

 

         Porthos felt the former Comte pressing his head against his chest to feel his steady and comforting touch.

 

“Now, Athos, open your mouth wide and take a deep breath. In and out, in and out. In and out ...” 

 

         Lemay repeated the words  _ in and out _ , as Athos followed his instructions. He breathed in deeply and then out and again. Lemay still had his hand on Athos’ heart and could feel it slow down. Athos felt the pain easing and finally disappearing. His throat still burned, but, at least, the horrible itching was gone.

 

“Than... ssss …” He slurred and relaxed in Porthos grip. 

 

         He felt exhausted. Again another slap on his cheek made him aware that he was not alone in his room. Aramis had taken over as Lemay had taken a step sideways to prepare a pain potion. While Porthos was still holding his sick brother in an upright position Lemay and Aramis managed to feed him the potion.

 

“Athos, open your mouth. Yes, that’s it. You will feel better soon. Only one minute and then you can rest again.” Aramis coaxed his bedridden friend. 

 

         Together, with Lemay, they gave him the potion to drink. It was a tough fight. Athos tried to pull away after the second gulp, but Aramis didn’t let him go. Lemay massaged Athos’ larynx and from time to time, Athos grunted in pain. Sweat was collecting on his forehead, Porthos wiped it away with a cold cloth, which a fast thinking Tréville had passed him, while he still held Athos in a secure grip to comfort him. From the only experience he had had several days ago, he knew that someone else comforting you in such a situation felt good.

 

         After Athos swallowed his last gulp and pulled his head back, he looked disgusted by the bitter taste in his mouth. 

 

“Po … os, your …”

 

“My what, Athos?” Porthos whispered.

 

“Thi … you’ll … urt … you … se … f.”

 

“Oh, Athos, please … Now, who is the sick man?”

 

“But … ,” Athos slurred again.

 

“No buts, just sleep, my friend, I will lay you down, don’t worry …”. 

 

         Porthos smiled fondly and slowly moved his brother back into a lying position and laid his head on the pillow. Exhausted, Athos rolled on his side and curled forward in a tight ball of pain. Hiding his suffering like a wounded animal, he fell into a deep, but worrying restless sleep.    

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ I saw you. _

_ The grip on his arm is tightening. _

_ I saw you. I saw you doing this. _

_ The grip is painful. _

_ I saw you and you will pay. You deserve to die. _

_ He can’t escape the hand. Fingernails are digging into the leather of his uniform. _

_ Two arms now. Two hands on his arms. Pulling them backwards.  _

 

_ Digging fingernails into the leather, into the flesh.  _

__

_ A white silky dress, tears. You lead her away. She tries to resist.  _

_ But she is so slim, so fragile.  _

_ White as a porcelain doll. Disheveled jet hair falling in teary sapphire eyes. _

 

_ I saw you. You broke the lovely doll.  _

_ Noooooo.  _

_ He is shouting like a madman. His throat hurts.  _

__

_ I saw him. _

_ I wanted to help. I wanted to keep her pure.  _

__

_ I saw him. _

_ Let me go. Where are the others? Let me go. _

_ I just wanted to protect her. _

_ I am so stupid. _

 

_ I can’t breathe. I can’t ... _

__

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

         Lemay stepped away and took Aramis to one side. Quietly he gave Aramis some instructions on how to treat their patient further. Tréville and Porthos were both listening.

 

“I have asked Madame Bonacieux to help with his care. So Aramis, she will help you with the pain potions and I will send her with some more medicine later. I will instruct her how she can help. If you will now please excuse me, I have to hurry back to the palace.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜   

         While Tréville had hurried after Lemay, next to Athos’ side, d’Artagnan had closed the door. Convinced that Athos would hate having Constance seeing him like this right now.

 

“What are you doing here?” He asked her.

 

“It’s good to see you too, d’Artagnan.” She answered a bit snippy. 

 

“I mean are you alright?” 

 

         D’Artagnan brushed with his hand through his hair to remove some strands falling on his face. Constance had made a move to do it herself but she had stopped it. She was still a married woman. But running her hands in the silky black strands was very tempting. She had to remind herself that it was not the time nor the place. Even if she was relieved that he seemed to be alright, she was still mad at him.

 

“Yes, I am, but I could ask you the same question. Who is the Musketeer who has fallen so severely ill?” 

 

         D’Artagnan made a step backwards and looked at her beautiful but pale face.

 

“Who has told you that?”

 

“Dr Lemay has asked me to come and help, because one of your colleagues has fallen very ill. He said it could be the flu. So, who is it d’Artagnan?”

 

         Hearing that it came from the good doctor, d’Artagnan had a strange feeling. If he had to be honest with himself - and had he been less exhausted- he would have called it jealousy. Constance looked into his eyes. He looked tired. She hadn’t seen him for the last three days. A closer look and she could see not only fatigue but concern too. He only had that look … Suddenly she understood, shocked. 

 

_ No … not him!  _

 

“It’s Athos, isn’t it?”

 

         D’Artagnan let his head fall. He turned away from her and tried to hide his wet eyes.

 

“Look at me, d’Artagnan. Talk to me. What is it?” She said, laying a soft and white hand between his shoulder blades, ignoring for a short moment that she was still angry and upset with him.

 

         D’Artagnan sighed painfully out loud. 

 

“It’s not good Constance. He …” He paused to swallow. “He is very ill … and it seems it’s getting worse by the hour.”

 

         Constance listened to d’Artagnan’s words. Then she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her head on his chest ignoring that they had argued several weeks ago and tried to avoid each other since then but at that very moment, both of them had forgotten their dispute. D’Artagnan allowed her to comfort him, he could smell her hair, a dizzying scent of lavender and soap, and something he couldn’t identify, invaded his nostrils. He put his head onto hers and breathed out deeply. Her embrace grounded him for the first time in three days. They were both silent for a while, with Constance slowly running her hand through his soft hair. From the inside they could hear Athos’ moaning. Startled, d’Artagnan freed himself from Constance’s embrace.

 

“He will be fine. If it is the flu, he will fight this. I am sure of it. He is strong, d’Artagnan.”

 

         D’Artagnan listened to her soft, but convincing voice.

 

“I can come with you. I can help you … all of you.”

 

D’Artagnan hesitated. Knowing his mentor much too well. 

 

“I think right now, he should be prepared for you to come and help him”

 

         Constance looked at him a bit rejected.

 

“You know Athos. He is a very proud and private person. Right now he isn’t himself and he will feel ashamed.”

 

“But he hasn’t to be ashamed. You know that. Everybody is ill from time to time.”

 

“I know that and you know that, but Athos …”

 

         Another groan drifted out from the room.

 

“I think I understand what you mean. Go back to him and I’ll wait for Dr. Lemay and then I will clear with him how I can help.”

 

         Somehow uncertain, not wanting to hurt her feelings, he pulled her in a short embrace. For a short moment he thought about kissing her softly on the forehead ,  but he didn’t dare. Undecidedly he took several steps backwards.

 

“I will ask him if he is prepared for you to come and help him, and if he is fine with this, I will get you at once.” He shyly smiled at her, then he turned around towards the door of Athos’ room.

 

         D’Artagnan was about to go back inside when the doctor left the room and asked Constance to follow him back to the palace in order to prepare more herbs for his new patient.

 

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	10. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fever and dreams.  
> Pain and comfort.  
> Love and friendship.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

 

 

**_Monday, 2nd of June_ **

 

          D’Artagnan wearily stretched himself, he had been up most of the night, to check on his bedridden mentor and after Doctor Lemay had left the day before, they had started to give Athos large quantities of fluids.

 

“We have to bring his damn fever down!” Aramis had told him and Porthos.

 

          After that, they had taken turns in caring for their brother. Most of the time they let him sleep, but when Athos showed signs of waking up, they encouraged him to open his eyes. Then they gave him broth, tea and pain potions to reduce his fever and to take his increasing pain from him. Most of the time Athos did not talk. It was too painful. It was as if a line of fire ran from his larynx to his tongue. He just couldn’t ... he had not the strength and anyway, he had nothing to say … He let his brothers care for him and succumbed afterwards to another restless sleep, driven by bad dreams and demons of his past. At least, it was Sunday so they were not needed at the palace. After helping Athos several times to the chamber-pot, which the former Comte endured, not having enough strength to let his pride talk, they had prepared him for the night. At least the fever had slightly dropped and Athos relaxed a bit with his three brothers by his side. During the night they had taken turns. Cooling his face with cold water and waking him from time to time when he had another bad dream. After that it always took him a while to settle down again. D’Artagnan had taken over the last shift of the night hoping that Aramis and Porthos would finally find some needed rest in their own beds. 

          Now d’Artagnan could see the first signs of dawn and he got up to open the window and let some fresh air in. In the courtyard he could see Pierre and Alphonse who just ended their night guard. He did not envy their job, because it had rained through the whole night. At least, now the rain seemed to have stopped and some rare sunrays shone through heavy clouds.

 

_ It’s about time that this nasty rain stopped. _

 

          He heard a noise and turned around. Athos was sitting upright in his bed and groaned. A ray of light had made it through the window and was falling onto his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“What is it?”

 

          D’Artagnan was immediately at his brother’s side.

 

“My he … ad hur … sss,” he slurred. “Arghhh … Why is it so … bri … ght in heeee … re?”

 

          D’Artagnan wasn’t sure what Athos was talking about. His room was still very dark. He himself had difficulties in seeing everything. Worried that his brother might have had another bad dream or was hallucinating again he laid one hand softly on his shoulder.

 

“Athos? Where does it hurt?”

 

“My head? Every … thing … is spinning. Can you ple … ase blow out  the … cand … le?

 

          D’Artagnan looked a bit irritated, all the candles were out. Suddenly he realized that it must have been the ray of sun that was resting on Athos face.

 

“Wait!” He stood up, went back to the window and closed the brown curtain. Then he returned to Athos’ side.

 

“Better?”

 

          He could hardly see in the dark room anymore. Only the dark shape of his mentor.

 

“Hmmm …!”

 

          Athos had closed his eyes again and fought against the dizziness. He tried to breath in and out, like Dr. Lemay had shown him the other day, but it did not seem to work. He felt the sickness well up and with his last strength he managed:

 

“Si … ckk!”  

 

          D’Artagnan who had heard his mentor’s breathing, reacted very fast. He grabbed the bowl standing on the table next to him where Athos, rolling on his side, vomited a gush of water. D’Artagnan helped him to bend over and drew circles with a gentle hand over his back.

 

“That’s it! Yes, let it all out.”

 

          Athos started to dry heave. D’Artagnan helped him back into a lying position. He then put the bowl away, feeling himself a little nauseous at the sight and smell. He took a cloth, sat down beside Athos and cleaned his mouth, beard and face. Softly he got rid of all the mucus that had come up. He noticed that Athos’ forehead was burning more than the night before and wished that Aramis were here. Athos had closed his eyes again and breathed more heavily than before. D’Artagnan, realising that Athos must have breathing difficulties got up again.

 

“Athos, I will lift your head a bit and put some more pillows under your back so that you can breathe more easily.”

 

“Hmm ...” Athos answered exhausted.

 

          He was grateful for the help of his younger friend. He fussed less than a mother hen over him, and Athos needed that right now. Not that he did not value Aramis’ support and care, but he was glad that this morning no one was lying like a dog at his feet .  After d’Artagnan had pushed a few more pillows behind his back settling his weak body a little more upright,  he noticed that his breathing evened out slightly.

 

“Thankssss …” He still had problems with his articulation and he worried it would become even worse.

 

“I think your high fever is back, Athos?” The young Gascon told him. “Do you think you could manage another cup of tea.”

 

          Athos wanted to say no, but he knew that the more he drank, the faster he would get rid of this flu.               

 

“Hmm …” He sighed.

 

          D’Artagnan helped him to drink some more gulps, but he realised that Athos was too groggy. So he put the cup back on the table next to him.

 

“It’s okay for now. We will try later again. The tea was mixed with a pain potion. So it will be easier to drink later. Try to rest a bit more.”

 

          Athos nodded. He felt d’Artagnan put a tentative hand on his shoulder and basked in the feeling of the comforting touch. The dizziness went away again, his heartbeat slowed down and his eyes began to droop, the exhaustion pulled him back to sleep.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ Where are you? You left me alone. _

_ And now, they have me in their claws. _

_ Where are you? _

_ I am suffocating. Sweat. Leather. My nose and my mouth in the crook of an elbow. _

_ Help me, I can’t breathe. _

_ A voice. This voice, I know this voice. _

_ I saw you. You broke her. What are you doing here? _

_ Where are you? You left me alone. _

_ What have I done? _

 

_ He accuses me, I can’t think anymore. Nothing makes sense. _

 

_ I just wanted to save her. _

_ It’s so hot under this black and red leather clad arm. _

_ A hand on my shoulder. Let me go. Please, let me go. _

_ My sword, I need my sword. _

_ Where are you? _

_ You tried to rape her. You will pay Musketeer! _

_ This voice. I know this voice. _

_ I know you. YOU raped her. YOU broke her. _

_ This laugh. I know this laugh. _

_ No, it’s not possible. It’s a trap. _

_ Where are you? You left me alone. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

          D’Artagnan hoped that Aramis would appear soon. He had the bad feeling that the medicine they were giving Athos wasn’t working. What else could they do? He wished he could ask Constance. She knew how to treat sickness. In his mind he made a plan, as soon as Aramis arrived, he would go and search for her, in order to ask her, what else they could do.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

          Athos woke up with a cold thing pressed on his forehead. Confused he tried to push it away, but his hand was stopped, by another cold item. Slowly, very slowly, he realised to whom the two cold items belonged.

 

“Shhh, Athos, leave your hand down. It’s me. I am only checking your temperature. It seems that your fever has risen again.”

 

          Athos felt a shudder going through his whole body.  _ Please, not again.  _ He feared another convulsion but the shaking faded again. Slowly Athos opened his feverish shining eyes, he was thankful that his room was still dark. D’Artagnan must have left the curtain closed. Only a little light was streaming into his room, but this time it did not reach his bed. He slowly turned his eyes to his friend, who had noticed his light trembling but had said nothing about it. Instead he had massaged his neck with his cold hands.  Thankfully, he looked at Aramis.

 

“That’s better, right?” The medic asked him.

 

          Athos only nodded. He did not dare to speak in order to avoid the pain in his still hurting throat.

 

“I have made you some tea with honey! That should ease the pain in your throat a bit. Let’s get you up and then I want you to try and drink it.”

 

          Athos let Aramis fuss over him, putting more pillows behind his back, elevating him more. While his brother helped him to get more comfortable, Athos started to scan his room. D’Artagnan must have left. He did not see or hear him. Porthos or Tréville weren’t there either. It was only him and Aramis.

 

“Where …?” Athos looked questioningly at Aramis.

 

“Oh, d’Artagnan had to go back to the palace with Tréville. Can you believe it, the King wants to do shooting practice at this early hour of the morning. Normally he never gets up before noon, and now, suddenly, with his brother-in-law as his guest, he’s become an early bird.” Athos wasn’t sure if he could follow Aramis fast talking. He slowly registered that Tréville and d’Artagnan had duty to fulfill.

 

“Who?”

 

“Oh, the Duke of Savoy is one of the guests of the trade summit. Remember?” Aramis filled Athos in.

 

          He realised that Athos still had problems concentrating, nevertheless he was thankful that he seemed to notice where he was and who he was.

 

          Athos was too tired to think about the arrogant Duke and what he might do this time during his stay.

 

“And …?”

 

“And Porthos is still in bed, at least I hope that he has listened to me. His thigh still needs time to heal and some more sleep will do him good, but I am sure that he will check on you as soon as he is awake. He wanted to stay in your room, but I told him a bed would be better and more comfortable.” Aramis smiled now at his patient.

 

“You know what. I am glad that you are more coherent than yesterday morning. I think this is a good sign.” He encouraged his brother.

 

          No need to show him, that he was very worried that his fever was still so high.

 

“What do you think, can you manage the tea with honey?”

 

Suddenly Athos felt a pressing feeling.

 

“La … ter … I guess … I need …” He panted.

 

“Of course, the chamber pot. Wait I will help you. Sorry, I think you are still very weak, so I’ll help you with it this time, we are alone. So no one will know.

 

          The need was too pressing and it was either the help of his brother or the humiliating feeling to have wet linens within the next minute. So he tried to push his weak body further up. The sweat on his forehead was forming again, as Aramis helped him up. He managed to get him in a standing position, after he had loosened his braies. Now Athos was ashamed that he had to relieve himself in front of his brother in the chamber pot. Aramis held him in a firm grip, but watched politely in the other direction.

 

“Done?” He asked after a moment as Athos started to shake again. Standing vertical was too much for his weak circulation right now.

 

“Hmm …” He managed.

 

          Aramis helped him to put his clothes on and then tucked him again up under the linens of his bed. Exhausted, Athos let his head drop against his pillows.

 

_ The light. Too much a moment ago, not enough now. My God, my world is narrowing. Darkness lurks around me. It hurts. Everything hurts. My chest is about to explode. Please … God help me!   _

 

          He closed his eyes again, he had already been through this, he knew it now. He remembered his breathing became uneven. A fit, he had had a fit, but when? He couldn’t recall. The dull pain in his chest increased. Aramis coaxed him. He drew small comforting circles on his back as he encouraged Athos to repeat the breathing exercises the doctor had shown him yesterday.

 

“In and out! In … and out ....! That’s it Athos.”

 

          Aramis had expected that by now Athos would have started to cough, but no sign of coughing. Softly he laid a hand on the chest, where Athos’ heart was thumping very fast, but managed to slow down again.

 

“Alright Athos, I think it’s time for the tea now!”             

 

          Athos didn’t want to. He felt groggy from the whole procedure he had just gone through, only to use the chamber pot, more drinking meant using it again and he felt too weak to manage it again. As Aramis wanted to give him the cup, he rolled onto his side and let his head drop in the other direction. Aramis sighed. His friend could be stubborn even in sickness.

 

“Come on! I know it will hurt your throat, but you need it. I have sent for Dr. Lemay and he will check on you later that day. Maybe we’ll find another way to get your fever down, but right now, this is the only way to make you feel better!”

 

As the former Comte did not react to his encouragement, Aramis took matters into his own hands.

 

“I am sorry!” He murmured, as he gently raised Athos’ head a bit and pressed the cup on his lips. “Drink! Now!”

 

          Athos sighed, gave a killing glare into Aramis’ direction, but finally started to drink. And this time Aramis was right. The honey eased the pain in his throat a bit. He managed half a cup. Then he turned his head away again.

 

“Good, Athos! That’s enough for now!”

 

          Athos did not hear the rest of Aramis’ words. His eyes had already shut and he had fallen asleep again. Worriedly Aramis tucked his brother even more in his blanket, removed most of the pillows from his back and hoped that this time Athos fever would drop a little more.

 

_ I really hope that Lemay will be here soon. I have the feeling that we are running out of options here. Fight Athos! Fight this stupid flu! _

 

          His fingers touched the cross hanging around his neck. He then crossed his hands and started to pray. It helped him to settle his own nerves and to calm a little.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_In the meantime at the palace_ **

 

          D’Artagnan was late. Early in the morning the Captain had been called to the palace and d’Artagnan was still busy with caring for Athos. As Aramis came to replace him, he had told him he should first have breakfast and then go and send for Lemay.

 

“Captain’s orders, you shall do this first and then go and support him with the King’s shooting competition.”

 

“The what?”

 

“Oh, it seems that King Louis and the Duke of Savoy are trying to work out who can shoot more glass-windows in the palace!” Aramis laughed.

 

          With a slightly irritated look d’Artagnan had left Aramis. Now he was searching in the palace for Dr. Lemay. Still no sign of Tréville or the King. As he went up the stairs to Lemay’s office he suddenly saw Constance, leaving the quarters of the Queen, she was deep in thought and did not recognise him at once.

 

“Constance!” He called her softly and she turned around.

 

“Morning!” She managed, a bit surprised to see him at this early hour in the palace. She watched him critically and she noticed his deep eyes and his hanging shoulders. He looked as if he had had very little sleep.

 

_ Of course he must have helped in the care of Athos. _

 

“How is he?” She asked him softly, reaching him and putting her right hand in his hair, where a straw had hidden itself.

 

          She removed it. For a second he leaned into her touch, but realising that he was in the palace and in a public place, he drew himself back.

 

“I fear he’s not good, I am on my way to Dr. Lemay. Maybe he has another idea to bring his fever down. We managed it last night, but it has spiked again, perhaps you can come with me. I know that you helped with saving the Dauphine, perhaps you have an idea.”

 

“We should go and ask Lemay first. He will know what to do!”

 

          So both of them hurried along the corridors of the palace to Dr. Lemay’s office. The Doctor looked up from his desk as d’Artagnan entered. He was still busy with some notes so d’Artagnan cleared his throat loudly:

 

“Doctor, I am sorry, to disturb you, but it’s urgent!”

 

          Constance was standing quietly beside d’Artagnan. As Lemay looked again, he spotted her and smiled at her.

 

“Is it Athos, d’Artagnan or has another Musketeer fallen ill as well?” Lemay asked, looking at him more seriously.

 

          D’Artagnan had seen the look he just had given Constance, but he had to focus on other things now. Constance was an attractive woman, and he was not the only one who had fallen in love with her. He knew that.

 

“It’s Athos, Doctor.”

 

“Please tell me what his symptoms are?”

 

“He is still running a very high fever, this morning he was really weak, his vision was blurred and he reacted to light. It made him dizzy and sick.”

 

“Hmm … and have you given him enough to drink?”

 

“We have given him the herbs that you prescribed, tea, water, broth. We managed to bring the fever down a bit last night but it is high, even higher than yesterday now. Do you have any other treatment to get his fever down?”

 

          Lemay thought about the question. 

"There are other methods like leeches. We could use some of the waters I tried to give the Dauphine but they did not work properly. Before I can make a further diagnosis I’ll have to check on him again.”

 

          He started to get up and pack his things.

 

“What about bathing him?” Constance asked curiously. “I have heard that it can help to drop the fever.”

 

          Lemay looked at her.

 

“It is possible, but we have to be very careful, his heart seems to be irregular right now and water which is too cold won’t be good in this moment.”

 

“Not too cold, warm water, a bit lower than his actual temperature. The women in my neighbourhood use this method when one of their children has a high fever. In most of the cases it works.

 

“Yes, that could work! Thank you for your advice.”

 

          Doctor Lemay went to the door, Constance and d’Artagnan followed him.

 

“I am afraid I won’t be able to come with you!” He told Lemay. “I have to stay at the palace.”

 

“No need to come, I know the way.”

 

          With these words said he left in a hurry. Suddenly stopping at the first flight of the stairs he called back:

 

“Madame Bonacieux can you please excuse me to the Queen. I will check on her court lady later.”

 

          D’Artagnan gave Constance a weak smile.

 

“Thanks for the idea with the bath. I guess leeches and Athos wouldn’t really work.”

 

          Constance smiled.

 

“Now, I really need to go!”

 

          Her eyes followed d’Artagnan as he hurried down the corridor asking around where he might find Tréville.      

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

          With her pale green eyes she studied the ceiling of her bedroom. She just had woken up to a loud sound outside her window, which she couldn’t figure out. She looked at the small, naked angels that looked down on her. The angels surrounded the virgin Mary, who was sitting on a cloud next to her son. The beautiful ceiling fresco that pleased her eyes showed the Ascension Day of Mary.

 

          Suddenly she had to laugh out loud, of all the rooms the King could have given her, he had given her the one which was dedicated to the mother of God. _“You Milady are my guardian angel!”_ With these words he had thanked her for saving his life. “ _I am many things, but an angel is not one of them.”_

          Pure luck had brought her back to fortune and wealth. After her husband had told her to leave Paris and never come back, she had had a hard time. She couldn’t work any longer for the Cardinal and her money was soon depleted. So she had to return to her previous job, working again as a trickster and a thieve. The last months had been hard for her, but now she was back and she did not want to lose the life of a noblewoman at the King’s court again. Now that the King himself had forgiven her, she was safe from her husband’s vengeance and had no reason to leave Paris anymore.

 

_ Had Athos seen me recently with the King? _ Milady wasn’t sure.

 

          Athos had had palace guard several days ago as she and King Louis had kissed each other in one of the corridors that lead to the state’s hall but the way Athos had left the palace, after she had recognized his presence, had led her to assume that he must have seen her.  She didn’t care anymore or did she? Athos had been the love of her life. True at first she had only wanted to find a way to leave the gutter. As they met by accident she started to flirt with him, but soon after that she really fell in love with him and the moments they had together before their marriage were the best moments of her life. She could still feel his strong arms holding her, their long days in the fields of his estate. The summer days they spent together, lying in the grass and doing nothing else, but loving each other. On one of these lovely summer days he had asked her to marry him. It was the best day of her life, she felt so happy, so wanted, so free. After their marriage Athos had not changed towards her but other courtiers began to treat her as an outsider, as if she had no right to marry a Comte. She was a common girl in their eyes and Athos had neglected his duty as the Comte de la Fère by marrying such an unworthy woman.

__ And then that horrible day arrived. The day that had changed everything. The day Thomas’ life had ended by his own fault.The day her’s and Athos’ life had frozen for an eternity …well at least for a very long time.   

           Seeing his younger brother dead on the floor had hurt Athos too much. He had loved his brother and hadn’t seen his true character. He had been blind to what he was capable of and she couldn’t prove what he had done to her.

 

_ Their love hadn’t had any chance ... _

 

          Another loud noise came up to her room, combined with loud laughter and the King was speaking. She was curious why he was up so early, so she let the past be the past again and walked to the window. It had a beautiful view over the King’s gardens. Glad that the rain had finally stopped, she could see a blue horizon, red and yellow flowers and a fountain, directly under her window. To her right she could see the King with his brother-in-law and Rochefort shooting at bottles. Next to them were four Musketeers who were busy securing the area. She could spot d’Artagnan who looked still very handsome, but right now very bored. Next to him, Captain Tréville tried to be polite and correct to the King as the shooting continued. If Tréville was around, Athos would be near him. So she looked at the other two Musketeers standing at the other side and guarding another section of the King’s garden, but she didn’t know them, maybe he had other important business to do for the King. Now with the summit coming up there were a thousand tasks to fulfill. She recognised that she was being watched from another person and as she looked down she could see Tréville looking up to her, his blue eyes stared coldly in her direction and she retreated by making some steps away from the window. She could hear Louis’ voice in the distance:

 

“Come on Tréville. You are so serious lately. Please join us in shooting! I am curious who is the better shooter, the Captain of my Musketeers or the Captain of the Red Guards!”

 

          The King’s loud laughter could be heard in the garden of the palace as the echo was reflected.   

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

          Athos wasn’t sure why two Dr. Lemays were checking him over. Since when did the man have a twin-brother. He squinted his feverish eyes in order to see less blurry, his throat still felt like fire. The pain potion Porthos had just given him had increased his suffering again and he hadn’t been able to hold the cup this time. He had tried to but his hand shook too much. Softly Porthos had taken it in his hand and waited until the shiver had gone away. Then he had lifted his head, pressed the cup to his lips.

 

“Try to drink! I am helping you.”

 

          As he wanted to turn away after the third gulp he felt another hand massaging his larynx again to make him swallow a bit more. Now he felt the itching pain returning in his chest. He could feel the doctor’s hand on his chest over his shirt on the spot that bothered him and he felt dizzy again, gasping for air, and groaning out loud, not knowing why he had trouble breathing. Suddenly he felt he was being lifted again and he heard the order to breathe in and out, in and out. He tried to follow it, every breath hurting his lungs, but it didn’t seem to help. His heart was hammering even worse in his chest. He let out another loud groan and pressed as hard as he could on Porthos’ hand in order to get the pain away.

 

“It doesn’t work doctor!” He heard Aramis voice from the distance.

 

          He felt the hand of the doctor once again on his left hand, then at his neck.

 

“Can you feel that?” Lemay asked Aramis.

 

          The medic bend over and felt Athos carotid, pulsing very fast.

 

_ No, it can’t be … My world is narrowing again … No, please, not again … again? … I can’t remember… Was there a first time? No, I am dreaming. That’s it. That’s a dream … But … the sounds … they are so hushed and hurting at the same time … I can’t breathe … I can’t ... _

 

“We need to get his heart beat down, doctor, the breathing exercises don’t seem to work.”

 

          Athos started to shiver again. His whole body was gripped by a fit, worse than before and the three men stepped away from him.

 

_ No, please not again … ahhhh … _

_ Again? No it didn’t happen … I must have drunk too much. That’s it. I will wake up … _

_ Why is my body shaking so violently? _

_ My hands … I can’t control them anymore … _

_ My legs … why can’t I hold them still … _

_ My feet are cramping … mmmhhh … help me … No, please stop … _

_ Why can’t I fight against it? _

_ Why can’t I control my body anymore? Mmmmh … God that hurts … my chest … _

_ My mind is blank again. Again?.... _

_ Please, go away, please … _

_ Finally … _

 

          He could feel the convulsions hitting his body. He tried to escape them, wanted to get rid of them, wanted to fight them like a nasty enemy but he couldn’t, he was forced to witness how his own body was betraying him. His head was shaking, the cramps in his chest returned in a fierce way. He wanted to hide, at least to pass out but he couldn’t. Numbly, he waited until the fit finally disappeared.  Athos was lying shock still in his bed. His whole body was sweating and he felt ashamed as he noticed that he was wet around his thighs and legs. The pain in his chest hadn’t gone away. His heart was still bouncing in his chest.

 

_ No, no, no … not again …. Please make it stop. God this hurts, my chest, my heart … _

_ I need … I need … I can’t … Please, where are you …? Where is he? Don’t leave me, please… I need … I need the voice … I remember a voice. It felt so good … the last time … The last time? _

 

          Another loud moan escaped his lips. He felt again the hand on his chest. This time Aramis’.

 

_ Please, Aramis, make it stop. I can’t bear this pain in my chest any longer… _

 

“Doctor we have to get his heart-rate down again!”

 

          He felt his sluggish upper body being propped up, a hand slowly touched his cheek and then he heard Lemay.

 

“Athos I want you to cough out!”

 

_ Why shall I cough? I don’t need to cough. My throat hurts. Only more pain. I am not sure how much longer I can endure this. What is happening with me … ahhh … it shall stop … why does my heart hurt so much? I want it over, I want darkness, I want to forget, please, let me go… Let me go, let me sleep, let me disappear, help me to disappear, help me be lost and safe into darkness … Do it … please … do it … _

 

          Athos didn’t want to listen. The pain was much worse. Every single muscle was still hurting from the horrible convulsion. He tried to pull his head away but the hand on his cheek was there again. It was a cooler hand this time.

 

“Come on, I know you can do this, Athos! Just one cough! Open your mouth!”

 

_ Aramis? I remember … No … I … I can’t remember. White. Everything is white … fog ... Why do you sound so troubled, Aramis? Have I done something wrong? Please stop worrying! What shall I do ….?   _

 

          Athos could hear the concern in Aramis’ voice and he didn’t want to hear his concern.

He opened his mouth and coughed. Suddenly the pain in his chest vanished, the throbbing heart went back in a normal rhythm and the itching pain was gone.

 

_ Whatever just happened … thanksss … ah that feels good … your hand feels good … ahhh ... _

_ I need to close my eyes … I am so exhausted … so tired … so hot ... the coolness … _

 

          Exhausted he opened his mouth, then breathed in more deeply. He felt someone making circles on his back and it felt good. Softly he was laid back in a horizontal position after another hand and ear had felt and listened to his heartbeat. His eyes started to droop. The last thing he noticed before the sleep caught him again was a cool washcloth resting on his forehead and Aramis’ voice.

 

“Doctor, we need to bring his fever down, now!”

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

_ You will answer for that. _

_ Again and again. _

_ You will answer for your crime. _

_ You will answer for that? _

_ What crime? _

 

_ He can’t think anymore. _

_ Rough hands on his neck. _

 

_ You will answer for your crime. _

_ Rough hands on his neck. On his arms. On his head. _

_ Bow your head. Bow your head. _

 

_ You will answer for your crime. _

_ Rough hands are  pushing him. _

_ The floor is slippy. _

_ The corridor again. So long. So hot. _

_ Rough hands on his arms, on his back, on his neck. Bow your head. _

_ You will answer for your crime. Now. _

 

_ He knows the voice. The voice broke the lovely doll. _

 

_ Doors. Large doors. Bang. _

_ The voice. _

_ You will answer for your crime. _

 

_ Cold air now. Rain. _

_ Rain on his face. _

_ Cold air. Cold rain. _

 

_ Rough hands push him. _

_ His feet stumble. Muddy lawn. Trees. _

_ Where are they taking him? _

 

_ You will answer for your crime. _

_ Woods. _

_ Water. _

_ Pain. _

_ Cold. _


	11. What do we do, now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemay has advice to give.  
> The _Inséparables_ have doubts.  
>  Tréville has a headache.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> And thank you for your patience. It will be rewarded soon.
> 
> ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

 

**_Earlier at the palace_ **

_ Could this day become even worse?  _ Tréville wondered as he stood guard next to the King, the Duke of Savoy and a peacock called Rochefort.

        D’Artagnan had earlier appeared in the King’s gardens and had informed him quietly about Athos’ state of health and that Lemay was on his way to the garrison to check on him a second time. He could see the concern in the eyes of his young soldier. How could he comfort the young Gascon when he himself was now concerned too? He had hoped that the fever would have left his Lieutenant by now. 

_ Why can’t he fight this flu? Why does it still have him in his grip? _

        He noticed that a figure was looking out of one of the windows of the palace. As he checked for a possible threat he looked up and to his surprise he spotted Milady. 

_ So the court gossip seems to be true, Milady is the King’s latest mistress. Does Athos know? Is that the reason why he can’t fight this flu as he probably could? Is she the reason why he is so severely ill this time?  _

        Tréville became angry. This woman was around and his brave and tough soldier became weak and acted like a complete fool or a hurt dog and most of the time he ended up drinking and he needed the strength of his friends to bring him back. Tréville lost himself in his thoughts.

        In the meantime the King had a great deal of fun, shooting at bottles a servant had prepared at a short distance. His shooting skills were not bad but he missed several targets and the Duke of Savoy, standing next to him, wasn’t sure if he really wanted to participate in the game. He was the better shooter and he knew it but he also knew how complicated his brother-in-law and host could be. Winning against him here and now with all the hopes he had put into this trade summit would probably lose him quite a fortune.  

        So he agreed to shoot some rounds too but ensured that the King was the better shot. When the Captain of the Red Guards also joined him, he was an even worse shot or so it appeared when shooting against the King. 

_ Oh this Rochefort is good at manipulating Louis,  _ he realised.  _ It’s better not to trust him.                                                  _

        Savoy looked at Captain Tréville standing a few paces away from them, doing his job and guarding the area. The last time they had met, he had fought against one of his Musketeers who had beaten him in a sword fight. 

_ And what a fight! _

        King Louis seemed to become bored and looked around, seeing Tréville who looked a bit confused and sad this morning. So in order to cheer him up he had a brilliant idea.

“Come on Tréville. You are so serious, lately. Please, join us in shooting! I am curious who is the better shooter the Captain of my Musketeers or the Captain of the Red Guards!”

Louis’ loud laughter brought Tréville back into the here and now.

_ A competition against Rochefort. Please, don’t ask me to do this! _

        But too late, the King  had already asked him. 

“Tréville what is it? You are looking a bit concerned this morning?”

“Please, your Majesty, I think my duty is to observe the area to prevent any possible threats. I am sure the Duke of Savoy will do another shooting round with you!”

“Tréville this is a lame excuse, besides, I am getting bored. I am better than Rochefort and the Duke!”

Tréville sighed out loud. He could not say “no” to the King again, not this time. So he  prepared himself to beat Rochefort as the Captain of the Red Guards stepped in.

“The reason why the Captain looks so worried today is that one of his officers has fallen ill!”

        Angrily, Tréville looked at Rochefort. Couldn’t this man for once keep his mouth shut?

“Really, Tréville? Who is it? And what does he have?”

        All alarm bells chimed in Tréville’s head. What should he say to the King? He couldn’t lie to him.

“It is Athos your Majesty. He seems to have been infected by the flu.”  

        Tréville expected an answer like “oh”, “but this is harmless” or some other nonsense, but the King surprised him instead.

“That’s not good, my son had that horrible cold! Wish him a speedy recovery from me!” 

        He could say no more, because he was interrupted by the Duke of Savoy.

“You are saying your officer Athos has fallen ill?”

“Yes, My Lord!”  

“Is this the soldier who fought with me last year?”

“Yes, it is him! Why?”

“Oh, I was just curious. Wish him a speedy recovery from me too, he is a fine soldier, I hope he gets better soon.”

“Come Tréville. We’ve had enough exercise for the morning, we have to discuss some more important details for our trade summit. If you’ll excuse us!” The King told his brother-in-law.

        Without waiting for an answer he lead the way and Tréville, d’Artagnan and Rochefort followed their King. Rochefort hadn’t said a word about Athos’ condition, but Tréville was sure it would come. Something like, _“I truly hope that your other soldiers will be fit for duty”_ or something like that. He was simply waiting for the right moment, he was always like that.  Tréville sensed another headache coming on and he was glad as he heard d’Artagnan whisper to him: 

“Well, that was an interesting move from the King. At least we don’t have to fear now that he wants to see Athos this afternoon at the palace.”  

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

**_Athos’ room_ **

 

        While Athos was sleeping, Doctor Lemay talked to Aramis and Porthos.

“I agree with you, we have to get his fever down or I am afraid he will not survive the  night!” Doctor Lemay said to a shocked Porthos and Aramis.

“How can we do this?” 

        Porthos looked frightened, as he tried to blink some unshed tears away.

“First, could you again name the symptoms he has had since the beginning of his illness?”

        Aramis started slowly:

“Headache, sickness, swollen throat, feeling dizzy, high fever, hallucinations, chest pain …”

“He hasn't had any coughing yet?” Lemay interrupted Aramis.

“No not that I am aware of … Porthos?”

“No, no coughing, only breathing much too heavily, catching his breath and he is very emotional. Much too exhausted, confused and very tired most of the time …”

_ And terrifyingly talkative.  _ Porthos thought bitterly.

“Constance has told me that a warm bath can help to reduce a high fever, but I’m not sure if his heart will be strong enough to survive this.” Dr. Lemay added cautiously, while listening to the heart of his patient once again. “It’s still beating much too fast for my liking. The way he is complaining about his chest pains tells me that he’s in a great deal of pain, caused by his racing heartbeat.” Lemay sighed out loud.

“Try it with cold compresses first on his face, his wrists and ankles and try to give him more tea and water to drink. If this doesn’t help, try the bath, but ...” He became silent and Aramis was well aware what he didn’t want to tell them.

“How shall we bathe him, doctor?” Porthos asked, while Aramis tried to fight with his emotions.

        Lemay gave them some quick instructions, while Aramis and Porthos stared at the doctor feeling more and more uneasy.

“So this is all we can do for him right now?” Aramis asked obviously shaken. 

“I am afraid yes and now I need to leave you. I have several other flu patients at the palace who also need my help. ” Lemay excused himself. 

        Lemay left the three men behind, not sure if it wasn’t already too late for Athos and instead of a bath his friends should consider calling a priest.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A few minutes later, still in Athos’ room_ **

“So, what do we do, now?” Porthos asked after Lemay’s departure. “We have to try the bath, Aramis. I doubt that bathing his face, which we’ve been doing all day long, will help to reduce his fever,  we have to bathe him! Now! We cannot waste precious time sitting next to him and doing nothing. He’s asleep so helping him to drink more tea, won’t work. It’s his last chance. I know the doctor hasn’t said it out loud, but he fears that Athos will … Aramis? … Aramis!”

        Aramis was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his right hip against Athos’ trembling arm, looking at his friend’s drawn features. His right hand curled around Athos’ wrist on the man’s chest, not breaking contact with his pulse. His left hand clutched at his rosary so tightly that the beads must have embedded themselves into his skin. His head was bowed and his black curls fell like a thick curtain on his face. Porthos, sitting at the table, had been staring at him for long minutes. The unusual silence of his friend made him feel uneasy … His thigh still throbbed intermittently and he cursed the day he had received this bolt. Bad timing. He so wanted to be strong. They would have to take Athos to the garrison’s bathroom, Porthos thought. This room at the back of the building was a small room heated by a huge fireplace whose hearth occupied a third of one of the four walls. There were no windows in order to keep both the privacy of the users and the heat. The thick door had two big rusty bolts. Three wooden bathtubs had been settled in the dim room separated by screens made of canvas stretched over wooden frames. The orange light of the roaring fire played with the translucent fabric of the screens and the white linens laying in the bathtubs in order to protect the user’s skin from splinters. Porthos remembered the smell of the room, a mix of smoke, sweat, herbs and sometimes soap made of olive oil and lavender -for the wealthiest of them who also used musky perfumes from Oriental countries-. In the silence, only broken by Athos’ ragged breath, Porthos tried to figure out how they could take Athos to that -so far away- room. 

“We have to take him to the bathroom. We can’t bring a tub in here, it’s too heavy and none of us is strong enough. And it’s too cold here.” He began, breaking the thick silence.

Aramis startled and raised his head. His eyes shone with an unmistakable wetness and they widened as Porthos talked. 

“Sorry, Wh … what?” He stammered.

“We have to take him to the bathroom.” Porthos repeated. “We are not strong enough to bring a bathtub and one hundred liters of warm water in here.” 

Aramis looked at him with wide eyes, as if Porthos had spoken to him in a foreign language.

“Aramis, pull yourself together, dammit!” He shouted. 

And he immediately regretted his outburst as Aramis lowered his head once more. Slowly standing up, Porthos approached his friend and laid a hand on the thick silky hair.

“Hey … Sorry, Aramis, I am so sorry, but we …” 

“You are right!” Aramis interrupted him in a firm voice. “If we don’t do anything, this fever will kill him … and us.” He added in a barely audible voice.  

Porthos briefly scratched his friend’s scalp and removed his hand. Aramis looked up and a small smile wavered on his lips. He let go of his rosary, tucking it again in his collar and used Porthos’ right hand to stand up … and take comfort at the same time. They stood together, shoulder-to-shoulder, for a few seconds, their eyes unable to leave the shivering shape of their friend’s body. 

The door softly creaked open. They didn’t turn around, not even caring who the newcomer was. 

“Er ... ahem … Is he … tell me he isn’t …” Pleaded a hushed young voice.

Realising how their behaviour could be misleading, Porthos turned abruptly with the brightest smile he could manage.

“Hey you! Look Aramis, here is our saviour!”

D’Artagnan literally slumped from relief. Seeing the two of them standing side by side head bowed over the bed, had scared him. Now he could feel his heartbeat slow down and he slowly breathed out, his mouth forming a funny “o”. Porthos smiled fondly.

“Sorry, d’Artagnan. We scared you.”

“No … no … not at all ...” He stammered shakingly. “I … just … wanted …”

“To help us take that human source of heat to the bathroom.” Porthos finished his sentence trying to alleviate the tense atmosphere. 

“But … I thought … I heard someone say that it … it could …”

“It could kill him, you are right.” Aramis whispered. “But this fever will kill him anyway.”

D’Artagnan staggered and had to sit down on the nearest chair.

“Hey … not the time for you to faint. Let’s find a solution!” Pothos told him.

D’Artagnan stayed quiet, staring at his sick friend. He sucked in a few deep breaths.

“The problem is that our friend is surely a lot thinner than Porthos … ouch!” Aramis cried as Porthos’ hand landed on the back of his head. “But, he is heavy.” He continued, instinctively rearranging his tousled hair.

A silence, then:

“Stretcher!” D’Artagnan’s firm voice startled the two older men.

“How a farm boy can be so clever?” Porthos laughed clapping a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Of course, we need a stretcher!”

“I’ll go to the infirmary right now, to fetch one, wait for me!” D’Artagnan cried eagerly and he left.    

“Don’t worry, we're not going anywhere.” Porthos said with a snort to the uneven planks of the now closed door. 

During d’Artagnan’s absence, they discussed the terms of the trip they were about to undertake and how they would protect and keep their precious cargo warm. 

_ Cargo? Did they say “cargo”? Are they kidding? I wish I could send them one of my glares that often make them lower their eyes … However, they said “precious”... My dear friends, I am so sorry to be such a burden. Not a precious cargo, a burden. An insane and weak and drunk burden. Why am I so weak and dependent …? I want it over… One way or another, I want it over, please … make it stop …  _

        A short discussion and d’Artagnan was already back, his trousers covered in mud and a large stretcher in his arms. He dropped it onto the floor, panting.

“That heavy?” Porthos laughed.

“No, but I wanted to be quick so I ran … er … and …”

“And?” Aramis asked frowning.

“And I fell in the courtyard.” D’Artagnan added sheepishly. 

“My God!” Aramis laughed. “Now, how are we going to use that thing?” 

“Er … like everyone uses a stretcher. We lay Athos on it and we carry him into the bathroom. What else?” Porthos asked. 

“We need to protect him from the looks of the other men and from the cold and the rain.” D’Artagnan said quietly, staring at his sick brother with a worried look. “Oh, and I asked Roch to fill a tub with warm water.”

“Ah! At least there is one grown up Musketeer in this room besides me.” Aramis said before adding. “You are right d’Artagnan, give me that hideous blue blanket. We will cover him with it as soon as he is laid on that thing. I would prefer him awake, but he seems reluctant to enjoy the trip. I just hope he won’t wake up during our walk.” 

All these little jokes seemed misplaced, but they helped them to tame their sorrow and their fears. When Aramis laid a hand on Athos’ shoulder, the man shivered so violently that he was startled and removed it.  

“D’Artagnan, come here,” Aramis said gesturing towards the headboard. “Talk to him, talk to him like you did when he had this … you know … I don’t know what you said, but it helped him. Can you do that? In the meantime, Porthos and I will lift him. Both of you, warm your hands if they are cold. We need to stress him as little as possible.” 

_ The voice … the words … please, don’t stop … don’t stop … don’t leave me ... My God … it hurts … keep talking to me, please … don’t leave me … talk to me ... _

And so they did. While d’Artagnan poured in Athos’ ear a stream of -maybe Gascon- words, holding his right hand and careful not to be in the others’ way, Porthos and Aramis lifted their comrade. The whole process went surprisingly well, but as they laid Athos on the stretcher, his body suddenly arched, he screamed and collapsed, unconscious. At least it was what Aramis hoped as he leaned, frightened, over his friend’s body frantically trying to find  a pulse. 


	12. God, please, no!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It could be dangerous but maybe a bath is the only way to reduce Athos' fever ... and find answers. ;-)  
> Please, let us know what you think. 
> 
> We want to thank Nurse13, Helensg and ... my husband for their advice and knowledge about Athos' illness.  
> Thank you Beth for correcting, correcting again and being so patient.
> 
> ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

“He lives.” D’Artagnan muttered.

        Aramis raised his head, surprised.

“He lives.” D’Artagnan assured them in a steady voice.

        And indeed, Athos hadn’t let go of the young man’s hand, gripping it like a lifeline, his knuckles white on his young friend’s tanned skin.

“He lives, I can feel his heartbeat, it’s uneven and much too fast, but it’s here.”

        Aramis crossed himself. A strong and shaky breath made them look up. Porthos had clapped a trembling hand on his mouth and stared at Athos with a childish fear in his eyes. D’Artagnan tried to get up to go to his side, but the grip on his hand tightened. He smiled softly sending an apologising look at Aramis who stood up.

“Porthos,” Aramis breathed. “He is fine.”

“No, he isn’t!” Porthos replied sharply.

“No, he isn’t but he will, it’s just a fever, a very high fever, but still just a fever.” Aramis tried to reassure him half-heartedly.

“Just a fever!” Porthos snorted bitterly. “A fever which might kill him. Nothing works, I am sorry, but I am tired, Aramis.” He added in a dejected tone.

“I know, my friend, but right now, he needs us, so, let’s be strong and bath him. If it doesn’t work, at least he will smell better.” Aramis finished with a wry smile. “I’ll take the head, you take the back, d’Artagnan … you take … er ... the hand!” He finished with a lopsided smile, noticing how the two men were holding onto each other.

        And with a last wink at his friends he settled himself at the front of the stretcher. Porthos bent to seize the back and the third man kept his post. They slowly and carefully made their way to the bathroom choosing not to cross the courtyard but following the walls around it, to keep their charge away from the intermittent drizzle and the possible witnesses. The bathroom welcomed them with a waft of warm wet air and after closing and bolting the door, they laid their precious charge at a reasonable distance from the blazes, Athos didn’t need such a heat. Aramis went to the tub and plunged his hand into the warm water.

“Your elbow.” Porthos growled.

“What?”

“Lemay told you to check the temperature with your elbow, who’s the medic?”

“Oh, right, you are right, the water is still too hot, we’ll have to wait.”

“Or add cool water. Aramis, did you leave your head in Athos’ room? Shall I go and fetch it?”

“If you two could stop joking, please.” D’Artagnan laughed, relieved to see that Porthos seemed to feel more relaxed.

“Bring me a bucket of cold water, d’Artagnan, please.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Oh sorry, yes, I’ll go.”

        The grip on his hand had slightly loosened, but the young man wasn’t ready to leave his post. When Aramis came back, he poured half of the cool water in the bathtub and checked the temperature once more.  

“I think it’s good now. D’Artagnan … er … we … we will have to … you know.”

“Undress him, so what? You want me to leave again? No chance. Stop considering me as a child, please. Anyway, he doesn’t want to let go of my hand, so, I will have to do it … one handed … but I will do it! ”  

        Aramis crossed his arms on his chest, smiling.

“I don’t doubt it, now, please, go ahead.”   

        So d’Artagnan did. He bent towards Athos’ head, never letting go of the demanding hand and the two witnesses had to stifle a cry of surprise. As soon as the young man’s lips brushed Athos’ ear, the man opened his teary bloodshot eyes. They shone in the dim corner of the room where they had laid Athos as far away as they could from the roaring fire, so Aramis and Porthos could barely make out the figures of the two men on the floor. The red tinge his face had acquired was less scary in this room, the fire was coloring his skin with shades of ochre.

“Now, I need you to help me, Athos.” The young man murmured. “I know it hurts, I know you are weak, but we need to help you feel better. So, now, let go of my hand, don’t worry, I am not leaving your side.”

“How ...?” Athos rasped, his voice more scratchy than ever. “Where are we?”

“You will have a bath.”

“Noommmh …” Athos moaned.

“Yes you will.” D’Artagnan chided. “That’s why we need you awake now.”

“Need a hand?” Porthos asked.

“Shhh. I will tell you as soon as I need your help.” D’Artagnan whispered mindful not to speak too loudly. Then, turning back to Athos. “Now, can I have my hand back, please?”

        Athos sighed and loosened his grip. D’Artagnan curled an arm around his back to sit him in an upright position. The man’s head rolled against his shoulder, settling in the crook of his neck. D’Artagnan looked at Aramis, worried. The skin against his was so hot! Slowly, with one hand, he began to untie the collar of the shirt but he froze as he noticed that Athos’ eyes were tight shut and that a lone tear had rolled down each cheek, disappearing into his beard. The process was too slow, Athos was clearly suffering from the position and surely from the realisation of what was happening to him. He could only silence his pride and his modesty. D’Artagnan managed to lift the shirt with his right hand and brought it up Athos’ upper body to his chest to remove the cloth entirely. As his hand met the clammy skin of his friend’s back, the young man jumped. He softly ran it once again along the bare back and felt again the strange lines which made a relief pattern on the smooth skin. He raised his head and looked at Aramis with an amazed expression. His lips began to form a question, but Aramis lifted a hand to silence him.

“Later!” He mouthed silently.   

         Now the urgency was to prepare Athos as quickly as possible. So, Aramis and Porthos -in spite of his pain- knelt beside d’Artagnan and helped him. As soon as they began to remove the rest of his clothes, Athos gripped d’Artagnan’s hand again like a frightened child. Once naked, he tried to curl on himself so Aramis quickly wrapped him in a clean sheet and between the three of them, they managed to make him sit in the tub. Athos sighed and shuddered as his burning skin met the water, but no other reaction, no convulsion as they all feared inwardly.  

        D’Artagnan slid a hand behind his head as a living pillow. Athos turned his head slightly to lean into the touch. Then with the utmost care and respect they sponged his arms, his chest, his neck, careful to always respect his privacy. As the fire threatened to die, Porthos went to the fireplace, added a log and stoke the embers. A few seconds later, a huge blaze brightened the room.

         Athos flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. D’Artagnan laid a hand on his face to protect his painful pupils, absentmindedly stroking his cheekbone with a soft thumb.

“Shhh, it’s alright. It will end soon.”

        He suddenly stopped, frowning.

“Aramis,” He whispered.

        And without removing his hand from Athos’ face, he pointed at something with the other one. Something that barely emerged from the troubled water. Just there, in the middle of Athos’ chest was a dark red blister the size and shape of a shiny garnet bead. The area immediately surrounding it was white, and the thin bluish veins seemed to palpitate under the  almost translucent skin. Around this strange spot, a larger area was covered in tiny spots and looked like a reddish piece of orange peel or sandpaper, thought Aramis as he ran the tip of his forefinger over the warm surface. Dry and burning.

“What … ?” Aramis breathed.

        This time d’Artagnan put a finger to his lips, now wasn’t the moment but the young man had recognised this new symptom. Porthos was back with them sitting on a low stool near the tub.

“What is it?” He mouthed silently.

“Later.” D’Artagnan replied in the same way.

“What are you two … talking … a … bout? D’Artagnan, even with … with your hand … on … my eyes … I know you … just … had a silent dis … discussion.” Athos mumbled breathless.

“Hey, Athos, you are with us? Welcome back, my friend!” Aramis said with a smile.

        And a surprising half smile appeared on Athos’ lips. Just a twitch of his upper lip, but a smile anyway.

“I know I … will … re … regret ... it … later, all of that, but … it …”

“Feels good?” Porthos answered, softly checking his temperature with the back of his hand. “You are less hot, you know.”

“Yes … It really is the best … best moment … I had in …”

        Athos fought to catch his breath, his heart trying to escape his chest. So he tried to follow Aramis’ advice. He tried to cough. And surprisingly, it seemed to help.

“But … I …”

        His teeth began to chatter.

“You are cold. Alright. Let’s get you out of this perfumed broth.” Aramis joked.

        A rasp made them jump as if they had thought themselves alone, protected in this world of warmth, white smoke and soft lights. Aramis stood up and went to the door.

“May I?” A hesitant Tréville asked quietly.

        As he stepped into the room a large smile appeared on his lips brightening his face.

“Athos, you are awake!”

        He knelt beside the tub.

“Barely,” Athos whispered. “But I feel better … Just … a little …”  

“Sleepy,” Aramis finished. “So, now, it’s time to be back in your bed.”

“With three … or four .... watch dogs?” Athos asked, a little slurred but with a hint of his usual dry humour.

“Of course.” Aramis replied.

        And they carefully dried their friend, dressed him with clean and soft clothes Aramis had lent and wrapped him again in the thick old -hideous- blanket. Then they slowly made their way back to Athos’ room.    

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Athos hadn’t felt so well since the illness had had him in its grip, he was still weak and very tired, but feeling slightly better. He felt the sensation of security as Aramis finally tucked him in the blankets of his own bed. Without the help of his brothers he wouldn’t be back on the road to recovery. A slight smile formed on his lips, as he felt Aramis’ presence. He had closed his eyes, mollified from the warm bath.

“Thanks!” He softly said to Aramis and opened his eyes for him.

        Aramis’ brown eyes smiled at his friend. He could see the much too wide pupils that were still enlarged.

“I just want to check your heartbeat, so we can decide, if you need to sit up or if you can stay in the horizontal position, Athos. He softly pulled the blanket covering Athos’ upper body away.

        Athos had closed his eyes again. He could feel the warm hand of his brother lifting his shirt. Aramis put his hand on the chest of his sick friend. His heart was beating faster than he would have liked it, but not as fast as it had been before. He let his hand rest a bit on Athos’ chest to calm him. Athos sighed, clearly enjoying the touch and Aramis couldn’t help but smile at the sleepy face. Then, after checking if Athos eyes were really closed, he opened Athos’ shirt revealing the rash d’Artagnan had discovered earlier. In the middle of Athos’ chest there was a red hot spot which Athos must have scratched because he could see the prints that his fingernails had left. The area was hot and he did not like the colour, he slowly started to check other parts of Athos’ chest. Around the bigger spot, there were smaller spots, probably transported there, through Athos’ scratching.

“Aramis, what are … you … do …?“ Athos panted.

“Shhh, it’s alright, I just want to make sure, that we have seen all your symptoms so that we can treat you better.”

        Athos did not like the sound of Aramis’ voice, something was wrong but he still felt good, still felt numbed by the persistent feeling of the warm perfumed water and the tender ministrations of his friends. So maybe Aramis was only in his mother-hen mode, making one hundred percent sure, that he was really fine and better. From the distance D’Artagnan, Porthos and Captain Tréville watched silently. Porthos felt relieved that Athos seemed to be on the road to recovery, but Aramis’ and d’Artagnan’s behaviour earlier did not give him any peace, something was going on, something that they did not want to say openly in front of Athos.

        Porthos could feel the stare of his younger brother in the direction of his bedridden mentor. His eyes fixed the part that Aramis was just checking and being curious he took  several steps nearer to the bed.

        Athos who heard him approaching said without opening his eyes:

“Porthos, come … sit with me, pl … “.

       Athos still had problems with his speech and his eyes still seemed to have problems with the light. Aramis pulled back the shirt and the blanket over Athos’ chest.

“I need to get a salve and some herbs, but I will be back soon, in the meantime Porthos will stay with you. I think one person with you right now will be sufficient, you must rest, my dear friend!”

       He exchanged a worried look with Porthos who understood at once. _Stay with him, comfort him, I need to check on something and I need to talk with the others. I will be back, promise._

“What … is … it … not tell … me ….” Athos asked Aramis.

        Aramis sighed inwardly, even with his eyes closed his brother understood his gestures and behaviour.

“I’ve told you, I need to check on something but I will be back shortly.” He squeezed Athos’ right hand and went to the door.

         Tréville who had sensed that something was going on announced:

“Get better soon!” With d’Artagnan, he followed the medic outside.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

_Why?_

_Don’t be so naive. You know why._

_Why?_

_Hate. Just hate._

_A rope burns his wrists._

_Why?_

_Jealousy. Just jealousy._

_His shirt has been ripped. He is naked to the waist._

_Cold. Shivers._

_Arms stretched above his head, he waits._

_He looks up at the crying sky. He welcomes the fresh water on his face, his back._

_One._

_He grinds his teeth._

_Two._

_He won’t cry._

_Three._

_He moans softly. He mustn’t show his pain._

_His forehead on the rough wood of the pole._

_He can’t raise his head anymore._

_He can’t look at the sky anymore._

_The whip tears the air, tears the tender flesh._

_He can’t look at the sky anymore._

_He closes his eyes._

_Four._

_He wishes he could pray._

_Five._

_Where are you?_

_Six._

_He is so alone._

_Seven._

_His shirtsleeve muffles his cries._

_Eight._

_God, help me!_

_Nine._

_He can’t take anymore._

_Ten._

_He screams._

_He feels his knees buckle under his weight._

_Why?_

_Insanity. Just insanity._

_And darkness. Welcomed darkness._

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“It’s poison, isn’t it?” D’Artagnan burst out outside of Athos’ room.

       Tréville stood stock still, he couldn’t believe his ears, with his mouth open he first looked at d’Artagnan while wondering if his youngest Musketeer was hallucinating like his Lieutenant, but the Gascon looked healthy. So he moved his head into the direction of Aramis who was still gathering his thoughts and searching for the right words.

“Are you kidding me? Both of you?” The disbelief on his face was not to miss.

“Captain, I am not sure but the possibility that Athos has been poisoned is very high.” Aramis began slowly. “He has a scarlet rash on his chest and several other smaller rashes are next to it. It looks as though Athos has scratched himself several times there, his pupils are widely enlarged and he still has problems with his vision. He hasn’t told Lemay, but I don’think he can see clearly if people are standing directly in front of him, he’s reacting to light. Enlarged pupils can be an indicator of poisoning.”

          Aramis paused to gather his thoughts and wondered what other symptoms might speak for poisoning as d’Artagnan groaned out loud:

“No! Please, no! It can’t be. It mustn’t be!” The young man tried to hide his tears that welled up in his eyes.

“What is it?” Aramis asked his younger friend and Tréville looked irritated at him too.

“The symptoms you just have named. They can be caused by a very deadly plant. If you consume too much of this plant, I mean of its berries, you can die very quickly. In many cases people can die within several days. They have a dry throat, a very high fever, a rapid heartbeat …”

“Where do you know this from, d’Artagnan?”

        Aramis remembered that he had heard of such a plant too. Some prostitutes used it to prepare themselves for their lovers. In several cases, if they had taken too much of the serum of the plant they became insane and died shortly after taking the overdose. Aramis stroked his right hand nervously through his hair and rested it at the back of his head.

               

“I … we …!” D’Artagnan stumbled.

        Seeing Aramis’ anxiety, feeling his own malaise and watching his Captain’s understanding and worried facial expression, ready to explode because this day went from bad to worse. D’Artagnan cleared his throat and added:

“When I was a small boy one of our neighbour’s daughters thought the berries of this plant were cherries. She and her brother started to eat them. She consumed too many of them and shortly afterwards died, her brother was lucky, he had had all those symptoms, we have talked about … but he was lucky, because he had eaten less and was already bigger and older.”

        D’Artagnan tried to hide the emotions that came up, as he remembered the day his mother came to him to explain that he would not be able to play with little Jeanne any longer. He was about nine years old at the time. After her funeral his mother had shown him the plant and warned him to never taste its berries nor anything else from the plant.

        Tréville who had been listening quietly now cleared his throat. His eyes that had starred the whole time at d’Artagnan, now wandered back to Aramis.

“Could it really be this poison, Aramis?”

“Captain, I am not a doctor. I … we have to check with Lemay. He will know better, but I fear that d’Artagnan is right.” Aramis head was spinning.

_If it is really this poison we can only pray for a miracle. I have never heard of any antidote and I am not sure how much of this poison Athos was given.  Hopefully not too much , but the heavy symptoms are suggesting otherwise. I … WE have to talk with Athos … ask him …_

        He was ripped from his thoughts.

“Aramis, we have to do something! Now! The longer we wait…,” the young Musketeer looked frustrated.

“We have to ask him! We have to talk to him!” Tréville said.

“What?” Aramis looked at him.

“If Athos has really been poisoned … _and I really hope that you have the flu Athos …_ he must have noticed something. This red mark must have come to his chest from somewhere. If it doesn’t come from the cold, flu or any other disease and ...”

        Tréville looked at his two soldiers:

“What plant are we talking about?”

“If it is what I think .... there won’t be any antidote ….” Aramis wanted to answer, but d’Artagnan was faster:

“Belladonna! The name of the plant is belladonna!”

        Tréville sighed in deeply. _God please no,_ he groaned. D’Artagnan was right, if Athos was really poisoned with that plant they needed to act fast but how? Aramis said that there was no antidote. _First steps first._ He breathed in deeply then he looked at both his men.

“D’Artagnan! Go to the palace and get Doctor Lemay back here! He must check Athos’ chest as well.”  D’Artagnan hesitated.

        He hadn’t said a word to Athos as he left the room. Would his mentor still be alive when he returned.  Tréville could sense d’Artagnan’s thoughts but sending him in and allowing him to say his goodbye to Athos would only startle and agitate the sick man more and Athos needed all his strength to fight whatever had befallen his body.

“D’Artagnan! Now! The faster you leave the faster you can check on Athos yourself and be there for him.”

        D’Artagnan swallowed hard:

“Yes, Captain” He felt Aramis’ hand on his shoulder. He softly squeezed it.

“Come back as quickly as you can, Athos needs you.” He whispered in the young man’s ear.

        Tréville watched the touching scene between his men and tried to gather his own feelings. He needed to be strong now. If Athos really had been poisoned he needed to be strong for him and the other _Inséparables_.

“Alright Aramis, let’s make a plan how we talk to our patient …”       

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Porthos sat on the very edge of Athos’ mattress. He could have used a chair or a stool but he felt that when Athos had asked him to sit with him, it was that kind of closeness he longed for. So Porthos had very carefully sat down on the edge of the narrow mattress. He felt so heavy and large and clumsy. He didn’t know what to do with his long arms, his large hands and his painful leg. He gingerly stretched it.

    A sigh brought his eyes back to the thin figure at his side. He hadn’t dared to touch Athos since he had sat down on his bed, he slowly and gently laid a hand on the man’s forearm. Athos seemed asleep, his body still shaken by tremors. His skin was still too hot and red. His curls were plastered to his forehead and eyelids, which were closed much too often lately. Porthos couldn’t help but reach for his hand, but he stopped as Athos’ eyes suddenly opened. Athos blinked several times.

“Let me,” Porthos whispered and he gently removed the wet strands from the feverish eyes.

“Th … thirsty,” Athos rasped.

        Porthos reached for the cup on the nightstand. Athos tried to sit up, propping himself on an elbow but Porthos laid a hand on his chest.

“Don’t! I’ll help you,  you must rest.”

        He slid his left hand under Athos’ head and lifted it enough to let him drink, he shuddered at the heat radiating through the thick and wet hair. Athos drank the whole cup. He winced and moaned with each gulp but his eyes pleaded for another one. When he felt a little better he nodded his thanks to Porthos. The latter kept his hand on Athos’ nape and the man turned his head towards him, searching his eyes. He buried his face in the warmth of the arm supporting his head, basking in the comforting touch and he hated himself for that. He felt like a lost child. His expression was so distressed that Porthos felt a lump forming in his throat, the steady and strong soldier, the man who could scare them all with just a stare, with his self-control, his noble voice, with one thundering shout, this man was gone. Under Porthos’ gaze, there was only a young man, fragile, lost, scared. And Athos’ next words confirmed this feeling.

“Porthos … I am … sc …”

“Shhhh. I am here.” Porthos tried to hush him.

        But the blue green iris’ almost erased by the enlarged pupils locked with his were so full of fear, that Porthos felt that letting Athos speak, in spite of all the suffering it could bring, was the best he could do. So he removed his hand, put down the cup on the nightstand and waited.

        Athos slid a trembling hand from under the blanket but as he hadn’t the strength to hold it, it fell, limp, onto his chest. Porthos almost shyly, as if fearing to break the fragile limb, laid his large hand on it, feeling under his palm the dry skin and the still so fast heartbeat.

“Tell me,” he whispered, gently rubbing the white knuckles.

        Athos linked his thin fingers with his and they stayed a moment like that. Not leaving each other eyes. At last, Athos started to whisper:

“I am … d … dying.”

        It startled Porthos who fought to stay quiet and steady. He tightened his grip on the warm fingers.

“Don’t. Please, don’t.” He pleaded.

“Let … let me … spea …” Athos couldn’t finish.

        He tried to slow his breathing, he coughed and squeezed his eyes shut. Porthos waited, patiently, anxiously. He didn’t dare to intervene. He could have lifted Athos’ upper body, he could have comforted him, but he just felt unable to  move … He felt so useless … and Athos needed to feel strong and letting him calm his breathing by himself showed him that he still had enough strength. That he still could fight. At last, he opened his eyes, just a slit.

“I … I … know … I am dying.”

        Porthos looked at the ceiling, the lump in his throat threatening to burst. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply and looked down at his friend when he felt a weak pressure on his fingers. Athos tried to smile, just the shadow of a smile, but he wanted to reassure his brother.

“Don’t worry. I accept it … I think … I can accept it … it’s … just … I wanted … I so wanted to die … Six years ago … and _it_ wouldn’t ta … take me … Death … forgot me … And now … now … I don’t … I want to live … I want to live, Porthos …”

        Two big tears escaped his eyes. Porthos wiped them with the back of his left hand, trying to rein in his own grief. His jaws hurt in his effort to keep his emotions at bay.

“I just … need … to … When … when …”

“Take your time, Athos, breathe.”

“I don’t have time, I …”

        Porthos reached for the cup and poured some fresh water in it.

“Drink.”

“No … no, it hurts … It’s just. When he … undressed … undressed me … D’Artagnan saw the … scars … I don’t know … if … if ... I ... have … enough … time … and strength left … to tell him …”

“You will, when you are healed, you will, don’t worry about that. He is not a child, he will understand and think no less of you because of it …There is no shame in what happened that day.”

“Don’t … be … naive, Por … os. Please, tell him … Explain … tell him … I … want … now … I want to sleep.”

        His eyes rolled back in his head that fell back on the pillow. Porthos took the limp hand in both of his where it disappeared and he let his tears fall.


	13. A fashionable beverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Inséparables_ try not to panic.  
>  Dr Lemay tries to help.  
> King Louis tries something new.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ♥♥♥

 

⚔⚔

 

        Athos woke with a start, some sounds had brought him back from his restless sleep and he could feel the itching getting worse on his chest. He had tried to move his hand to the spot that bothered him under his shirt, but Porthos had managed to pull his hand back, every time he tried to scratch the itch. Why had Aramis checked his bare chest? His skin felt heated there and it was itching more after Aramis had touched the sore spot.

        He was distracted as the door was opened and he weakly turned his head to see who was coming. He opened his -less feverish- eyes and could see Tréville approaching him, the nearer he came the less clearer he could see him. He squeezed his eyes shut several times to get rid of his unclear vision but it did not work.

        In the meantime, Porthos offered the Captain his chair, but Tréville refused it and pulled another seat next to him. Aramis followed his example, so that they sat in a half circle around Athos’ bed.

“Athos, I need to talk to you … well, we all need to talk to you” Tréville made a gesture to Aramis “and we have several questions. Do you think you are fit enough to answer them?”

“Have I done … any … thing … wrong?” Athos gasped slightly agitated by the sudden change in his Captain’s behavior towards him.

        Tréville was completely taken aback by Athos’ question and tried to gather his thoughts before he continued. Gladly, he appreciated Aramis’ supporting input:

“No, not at all Athos!” Aramis helped. “Why don’t you relax and I … we’ll explain it to you?”

        Athos could sense the tense atmosphere and suddenly his eyes watered.

“It is … not … the flu … am … I … right?” He gasped.

“We don’t know for sure … _my son …_ Athos!” Tréville said softly and rested his right hand on the sick man’s right hand.

“What is … it … then?” Athos’ breathing troubles had returned.

        He tried to stay focused and concentrated but all he could see were three blurred forms in front of him. Frustrated, he closed his eyes, he was tired of all of this. Tired of being forced to lie in his bed, tired of not knowing what was wrong with him, tired of the concerned looks from his friends, tired of his dependence on them.

        He sighed out loud and tried to catch his breath again, but it became harder and harder.

“I … can’t …!”

        Athos tried to breathe, but he had difficulties sitting up by himself. He was still too weak to raise his upper body without help. Tears were now running down his face ending in his beard.

“Easy, easy, it’s alright!” He heard Tréville’s soothing voice.

        He felt two strong arms lifting his torso back into an upright position. _Porthos_ . He gently put some pillows behind his back and from a distance he could hear Aramis’ soft voice relaxing him. A warm hand was back on his chest and he heard the words _In and out … in and out …_

        Aramis’ palm rested on his friend’s chest and as Athos’ breathing started to even out he took a second look at Athos’ bare chest while opening the collar of his shirt again. The scarlet spot was still there. From this part of skin the heat radiated.

_Oh Athos this must hurt so much. Why haven’t you said anything before? Wait, he had, but they had thought the pain was coming from his accelerated heart beat._

        Aramis softly searched the area and found a small spot that looked like a sharp needle  had injured the skin, now he was certain, Athos had been poisoned but when and where? They had to find out. While Aramis pulled back the blanket over Athos’ chest, Porthos had started to wipe Athos’ tears away with a wet cloth. Gently, very gently he dared to touch his friend’s face. Well aware that at the first sign that Athos was uncomfortable he would stop, but his brother accepted his help and comfort.

“I am afraid, Athos … that … we ...!” Tréville said very softly. “We think that you have been poisoned.”

        Athos felt dizzy, but somehow not surprised. He could hear Porthos’ surprised voice in the background as he tried to sort his own thoughts and feelings that hit him at this moment.

_It never gets easier, never! You could take the easy path, a nasty cold, but no, you … you have to take the hard road with lots of stones on it, so that it is hard to pass and move onwards. Poisoned. But why? How? Where?_

        His head was spinning, he opened and and closed his eyes several times to calm and steady himself.

“Woahh, who would poison Athos? This is ridiculous!” Porthos exclaimed.

        He put a protective hand on his friend’s shoulder. Angrily the street-fighter looked at his Captain.

 _Oh I know at least one person. Milady, Anne …_ Athos thought, thinking of her right now.                                     

        He was reminded of her soft touch, her good smell, her beautiful shining eyes and her bitter hatred and lust for revenge during the last year but he didn’t want to announce it out loud.  

“How certain are you?” Porthos asked a little more quietly, realising that his loud voice must have hurt Athos’ ears.

“A few minutes ago I would have said it is only one assumption of many, but I have again inspected your chest Athos.” Aramis made sure to not only talk over the head of their exhausted patient, but with him too. “You have a scarlet rash there, Athos.” He softly touched Athos’ shirt over the spot with his hand to mark it. “And I assume it must be itching very badly.”

“Hmmm …,” was Athos’ quiet answer as he again attempted to check the area of the spot with his right hand. Now that Aramis had mentioned and softly touched it, the itching had come back pounding heavily. He tried to scratch himself again, but Aramis held his hand tight.

“Don’t!” He said softly but firmly. “I will find something to ease your pain as soon as I can. Don’t worry. Calendula mix with honey is very efficient, it’s calming but, please, don’t scratch it like that, you will make the pain worse and also the state of your skin.”

        He wanted to put Athos’ hand back under the blanket but Athos fastened his grip around his wrist and so Aramis did not let go. With his thumb he softly drew small circles on the back of Athos’ hand, he sensed the anxiety from his brother about the news he still had to cope with but his questions would soon come and he feared them.

“I have found a very small spot that looks like the injection of a needle or another sharp item in the middle of your chest. Do you recall feeling a sting like a bee-sting several days ago? Let me see, on Thursday?” Aramis asked.

        Athos’ head was spinning. He tried to concentrate on what Aramis was saying, but he couldn’t. He felt confused and afraid at the same time. His hand gripped Aramis’ harder.  

“What …?” He groaned. “Why …?” And finally “Is there an … anti … dote?”

        Aramis felt so helpless in this moment. His brother wanted and needed answers and reassurance, but he himself had just stated in front of Athos’ room that there was none. At least he did not know about any.

        Tréville took over:

“Athos, listen to me, d’Artagnan is on his way to get Dr. Lemay. The doctor is very well qualified, I am sure he will know of a way to help you.”

        Athos looked into the pale blue eyes of his Captain, his reassuring smile helped the ill man to calm down a little. He felt Porthos’ mouth at his ear:

“Whatever it is, we will fight this together. Listen to me, you, my friend, will be fine again! That’s a promise!”

        Porthos’ unstoppable positive belief relaxed him even more and Aramis? He looked from Tréville to Aramis.

“If you were poisoned by a high dose of the plant venom you would be dead by now. So, you have survived the last three days and your body is still fighting against it. I am not an expert, but I think that the dose you have been given was high, not too high to be deadly immediately but you still need to fight against it.”

        He bent down over Athos and looked straight into his greenish eyes that shimmered blue, maybe because of the blue colour of his blanket.

“You are strong and you will fight this, I know you and we are here at your side to help you! Do you understand?”

        Athos nodded and exhausted, he closed his eyes. He felt the tiredness overwhelming him, too many questions were racing through his mind and he felt a headache coming on. After the bath his body was too weak and it succumbed to another restless sleep. Aramis felt how Athos’ grip became weaker until his hand fell limp onto his stomach. The medic decided that Athos needed the sleep, so he did not try to wake him up again.

“Let’s give our friend some rest, his body is still weak. We’ll ask him the important questions, when Dr. Lemay is here, we’ll have to wake him then anyway.

  


⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜   

  


        Silently, the three Musketeers stepped away from Athos’ bed and gathered at his door.

“Do you know what kind of poison we are dealing with?” Porthos whispered in Aramis’ direction.

“D’Artagnan and I think that it must be belladonna, because of the symptoms but Dr. Lemay has to finally tell us, if we are right.”

“That’s not good!”

        Porthos ran a hand through his hair.

“If it is really the poison of belladonna, then …”

        An idea formed in Porthos’ mind.

“I think I maybe can ask around about the treatment!”

        Tréville looked at him impatiently:

“How?”

“I am not quite sure, but I know some people in the _Cour des Miracles_ , who are … let’s say ... experienced with that kind of poison.”

“What are you proposing?” Tréville asked Porthos.

“If Aramis and d’Artagnan both say that it’s belladonna, then I don’t need confirmation from the Doctor. We are losing precious time. Sitting around and waiting is not what I prefer to do. So, I will go in the _Cour des Miracles_ and ask around.”

“Are you sure you want to go there alone?” Aramis asked. “Your thigh is still …”

“Aramis really, my thigh is healing very well and I’m old enough to walk through the streets of my former life, besides the people know me there, so I’ll be safe. Just make sure that he is still fighting and breathing until I come back!”        

“Porthos is right Aramis! We have to use every single resource we have to fight for Athos’ life.” Tréville turned to Porthos: “Make sure you come back alive!”

“I will!” He promised.

 _And then I will hunt this person or these persons down who did this to Athos!_ He thought angrily.

        With these words said, the streetfighter left the room. Tréville looked at Aramis.

“What else can we do?”

“Right now, Captain, I am afraid, we have to wait and we have to be there for him.”

        Aramis looked worriedly at his sick friend.

“Who has poisoned him?”

“I don’t know Aramis, right now we can only speculate, we’ll have to speak to him first. When we know where he was poisoned, we can start to trace back the perpetrator, but right now we don’t know, if it has anything to do with the trade summit or if it is a personal vendetta against him.”

        Tréville slowly returned to his seat and with a heavy sigh he sat down. This morning he had thought that his day couldn’t become any worse but he had been wrong. Aramis could see the worried look on his Captain’s face and realised that he needed some time alone with his Lieutenant.

“I will be back in no time! I just need to get some fresh air and I will try to find some more herbs with which we can try to reduce his fever. I also need to find a salve for his rash, there must be Calendula oil in the infirmary.” With these words Aramis excused himself and hurried outside.

        The door slammed and Tréville noticed the flinch in his Lieutenant’s body. A bit lonely he sat there, deep in thoughts.

_Who has poisoned you? Did you overhear something that you shouldn’t hear or has Milady finally decided to get her revenge?_

        He could see new sweat forming on Athos’ forehead and he started to sponge it. Quietly whispering encouraging words into his ear, he tried to calm himself and the fretful sleep of his sick Musketeer.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

_Someone is shooting. Someone is shouting._

_Fire on his back. Ice on his face._

_Clattering of metal in his ear._

_Metallic tang on his lips._

 

_Someone is shouting._

_He knows the voice. He knows the voices._

_You will have to answer for your crime._

_Words. Shouted words._

_Crime. Trial. Rape. Die._

_He knows the voice. The voice broke the lovely doll._

 

_Another shout. Another voice._

_So many voices._

_Hands. Hands on his face. Hands on his arms. Hands on his hands._

_Let me go. Don’t touch me._

_Gentle hands on his face. Soft hair brushing his forehead._

_Warm breath on his temple. Warm words whispered in his neck._

_Hands on his wrists._

_Warm soft leather against  his back. Warm chest against his chest._

 

_You are safe, son._

_We are here, brother._

_Now he can fall._

_Darkness again._

_Welcomed darkness._

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A little earlier at the palace_ **

“Oh, I love to taste new things from other countries, Monsieur Van Dyk.” The King smiled widely at the Dutch merchant showing his white teeth.

“This new drink is called coffee, your Majesty. You have to drink it hot and some people pour honey and milk it it. It tastes very bitter. I have to warn you.”

“Excellent, I like exotic tastes, besides who wants to drink tea every time. Tea reminds me of cold and being sick and you say that this drink is a perfect drink to start the day.”

“Exactly your Majesty. I have experienced that I feel fitter and more awake when I drink a cup of it in the morning.”

“Then, I will give it a try. Come, Doctor Lemay, you should taste it with us.”

“Me?”

        Dr. Lemay looked a bit perplexed. He had just been to see one of the court ladies of the Queen. The poor thing had caught the same illness as the Musketeer Athos, the flu, but she had already started to cough, so he was sure that she would be on the road to recovery soon. He was more worried about the Musketeer, he hoped that they could have brought his fever down, otherwise he feared that Captain Tréville would lose one of his best men.

        He had just left the Queen’s quarters when the Dutch merchant arrived and before he could do anything about it, he was invited to join the King, Rochefort and several other noblemen and merchants.

“Now, now, Doctor, if the King wishes you to taste one cup of this “coffee”, you should be honoured and not ask such questions.” Rochefort teased the Doctor.

        The Dutch merchant encouraged Dr. Lemay. He poured the hot beverage into a beautiful cup of white porcelain adorned with blue and pink flowers and gave it to the doctor.

The next cup he held out to the King.

“Anybody else?”      

        Rochefort avoided taking one, instead he asked:

“I am sorry, I have forgotten, but from where did you obtain this exotic drink?”

“It is shipped from West Africa. It is quite expensive, but the people I have sold it too love it. The Arabs grow coffee beans in their fields and from these beans we obtain this hot drink. I have brought some sacks with me, so if you like it, I am looking forward to selling it.

“Please, try it, too!”

        Rochefort tried to refuse Monsieur Van Dyk’s offer, but he couldn’t. So he also ended up with a cup of coffee in his hand. He smelled the bitter odour and tried fervently to find a way to excuse himself.

“Come on, Rochefort! Where is the fun in it, when we don’t try new things?”

        King Louis was somehow delighted by the facial expression of the Captain of the Red Guards.

“If it pleases you, your Majesty, I am delighted to drink with you.”

        From the distance the Duke of Savoy watched the whole spectacle. Glad that Louis hadn’t asked him by now to join in this other form of a “tea party”.

        Rochefort took a gulp, he didn’t like the bitter taste, but he didn’t dare to say it. So he added: “I suppose with honey and milk it will taste much better. What do you think Doctor Lemay?” Rochefort glanced in his direction.

        The doctor took a sip. As a scientist he was used to trying different substances. He had thought he would despise it, but to his own astonishment he liked the taste which was a little bitter but not bad at all.

“Your Majesty, I like it.”

        He took another sip and now it was Louis’ turn. He too drank a gulp, but he had forgotten about the “hot” in the drink, so he ended up spitting it onto the marble floor.

        Noticing what had just happened the Doctor hurried to give him a cup of cold water and eagerly the King drank it.

“I think, Doctor, we have different tastes, it tastes awful, much too bitter.” Louis complained like a little child.

“Oh, I like strong and bitter teas. I should have warned you, your Majesty. It’s a habit I  accustomed myself to during my studies in Italy.” He slightly bowed in the direction of the King.

“Bitter herbs can help to cure diseases, if you will allow me, I will order some of the coffee beans for our medical supply.”

“Now, that sounds like a good idea. Don’t you think Monsieur Van Dyk?”

The King concentrated on the merchant who had paled several minutes before and now eagerly nodded.

“So, if that is settled I leave you in the hands of our good doctor, he will tell you how much he needs.”

“This way please, Monsieur Van Dyk.”    

        Lemay showed the Dutchman the way to his office where the doctor made notes on how to prepare the hot coffee. He had just stored several of the sacks when a loud knock on  the door startled him. Even before he could give an answer the door was opened and a breathless d’Artagnan stood in front of him.

“It’s worse, isn’t it?” Lemay feared that Athos had hardly survived the bathing and was now suffering from a heart attack.

“The bathing was good for him. We managed to take the fever down. But …!”

“But what?”

“We don’t think that Athos has the flu, we think he was poisoned with belladonna!”

  
        A shocked Lemay grabbed his bag and followed the Gascon to the horses. How could he not have seen the symptoms of belladonna poisoning, he asked himself. As both men mounted their horses a dark figure stood at a window in the palace, watching the doctor riding away with the young Musketeer. _So my plan seems to have worked … farewell Athos, the Doctor will not be able to help you._


	14. The day when ...

⚔⚔

       Lemay bent over the restless sleeping Lieutenant, lifted his shirt and checked the scarlet rash on Athos’ chest. He pulled the shirt back. Then he felt Athos’ fast pulse and quick heart beat. His body temperature was still high, but the bath had helped to reduce it a little.

 

       He had tried to wake the Lieutenant before but he was now in an even deeper sleep than the last time. He slapped his cheeks, but there was no reaction, calling him didn’t work either, so again, he had to press with his knuckles on the sternum of the soldier.

 

       Aramis winced and held his hand to stop Lemay.

 

“No!”  He began, but it was too late.

 

       Athos reacted to the pressure on his chest. The unbearable pain made him gasp, he opened his eyes and slurred:

 

“Go … away, … mis!”

 

       At this moment, Aramis took over, again softly slapping Athos’ cheeks and saying comforting words.

 

“Come on, Athos! This time it’s really me and it’s time to wake up! Open your eyes!”

 

_ Who is calling me? I want to sleep! I want it to stop. I want to go. Leave me alone. I … _

_ Aramis? Why do you sound so distressed again? _

 

       Sluggishly Athos recovered consciousness.

 

“Hmm … what … A … misssss?” He slurred.

 

“The Doctor is here to check on you again, he needs to see your beautiful eyes.” Aramis teased him.

 

“Go … way …”

 

“Sorry, I can’t. Because I promised you to help you to get better. Remember?”

 

       Confused Athos registered Aramis’ last words.

 

_ Better? What? _

 

       Suddenly he remembered that he had been poisoned. They wanted answers from him, but he wasn’t sure, if he could give any to them.

 

“Athos, open your eyes!” He heard the gruff voice of Tréville.

 

       Slowly, very slowly he opened them. Lemay didn’t wait. He bent over his face and checked first an eye then the other one.

 

“His pupils are enlarged! It is one of the signs, combined with the rash on his chest, I think you are right.”

 

“Athos can you help me with your other symptoms? We have done that before, remember, I name some symptoms and your tell me yes or no. Do you understand?”

 

       Athos didn’t like the loud voice of the doctor, but he was here to help him.

 

“Yes!”

 

“Alright, I have already found out that you are running a high temperature, your pulse and heartbeat are too fast. Your throat is burning and hurts you a lot, you are very thirsty but the water doesn’t help to get rid of the dryness in your mouth. Sometimes you experience a dull or itching pain in your chest, followed by a bursting heartbeat and difficulties in getting enough air. Your friends told me that you had hallucinations, you have concentration problems remembering things, you are very moody. And we know that you are very exhausted and tired. Do you have a headache?”

 

       Athos had troubles following the many symptoms the doctor had just listed.

 

“Yeess ...!”

 

“What about your eyes? Can you see clearly in the distance?

 

“Yes!”

 

“And if I am right in front of you, do you see me blurred, then?”

 

“Yes!” Athos sighed.

 

       Doctor Lemay stepped away from the bed and approached Captain Tréville and Aramis, while d’Artagnan who had positioned himself beside Athos, softly laid a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey there!” He grinned at his mentor. “I am glad that you are awake again!”

 

“Only … to find … out … that I was … poi … d.” Athos again had difficulty in speaking clearly.

 

“Shhh, rest your breath. You need to help us to find out when, where and who did this to you, but right now we are waiting for the doctor’s opinion.”

 

       Athos closed his eyes, he could hear the whispering voices of the Captain, Aramis and Lemay in the background. He was not stupid, all the symptoms the Doctor had just named were signs of belladonna poisoning. And as far as he had learned, there was no antidote against it.

 

_ Will they tell me that I don’t have many hours left on this earth? Will Aramis ask me if I want to talk to a priest? I wish I could have been a far better mentor for this boy. He still needs me. Tréville needs me with this damn Rochefort making his life complicated and Porthos and Aramis, I need them and they need me. Who is going to protect Aramis when I am not here any longer. He is so stupid and will endanger himself, his child and the Queen. I need to watch his back, I can’t let them down. Not now. Five years ago, even one year ago, I was ready, but not now. I don’t want to die. _

 

       He tried to blink back the tears welling up under his closed lids, but it didn’t work. He felt the hand of the young Gascon wiping them away, so softly, bending to speak:

 

“You will be fine again!” D’Artagnan said in his ear.

 

“I don’t ... want ... to die. Not now ..., not like … this!” He had spoken very softly and d’Artagnan thought that only he had heard him.

 

       The young Musketeer felt his own eyes watering now. He couldn’t say a word. Instead he kissed Athos on the cheek before standing again.

 

“You will not die, my dear friend!” Aramis had stood quietly beside them.

 

       He approached Athos, sat on the edge of the mattress and took his shaking hand in his. He held it firmly to his chest so that Athos could feel his beating heart, he locked eyes with him and suddenly, he could no longer look at this hurt expression. As a lump formed in Aramis’ throat he feared that the dams would break without warning, so he tried to hide his face and the only place he found was Athos’ chest. He slowly bent forward until his forehead hit the other man’s shoulder. Not letting go of the too warm hand, he breathed in deeply and tried to silence his sorrow. He turned his head and brushed his lips on Athos’ ear  to make his vow:

 

“Not, as long as I can  _ help _ it! Do you  _ hear _ me? You are  _ not alone _ ! We will fight this!!! The doctor just told me how to move on with your treatment and he agrees with me that the dose you have received was less fatal than we thought.”

 

       He sucked in a shaky breath before continuing, not sure of the steadiness of his voice.

 

“Your body is still fighting against it and we are helping you. Porthos, right now is trying to find out more about belladonna and he is sure that he will find some information. In the meantime we should find out when and where you were poisoned. Alright?”

 

       Aramis had whispered his words into Athos’ right ear and felt the furtive brush of fingers on his head then Athos whispered:

 

“Al … right!”

 

       Doctor Lemay gave his last instructions and was just about to return to the palace as Porthos burst into the room. Breathless, he looked from one face to another, then he approached Athos and knelt next to him.

 

“I have just heard about an antidote, I just need to figure out where to find it and then you will be better in no time, so keep on fighting!”

 

       Athos tried to smile. That was Porthos.

 

“There is an antidote?” Doctor Lemay asked curiously.

 

“Yeah, an old woman from Africa has told me in the  _ Cour des Miracles _ . Sometimes women are taking a bit of the juice of the fruit to make themselves … er … well ...”

 

“I understand!” Lemay nodded. “Move on!”

 

“It can happen that they take too much of this juice.Then they take a bean from Ethiopia, that is brewed as a hot drink, as an antidote.”

 

       Porthos started to look through his clothes.

 

“Here, I have some notes how often this drink has to be consumed.”

 

       Lemay looked at the small sheet of paper that Porthos had given to him.

 

“Do you recall the name of the bean?”

 

“Yes, it was … wait flea, no fee … it sounded a bit like the name of a friend of mine, but only the ending. Wait ... yeah ... coffee beans! That’s the name. The drink is called coffee.”

 

       Lemay made several steps back, gasped out loud and then grabbed his bag.

 

“Unbelievable!” He murmured as he started to leave the room.

 

       Tréville had to call him back:

 

“Doctor?”

 

“By pure chance, I obtained some coffee beans from a Dutch merchant today. He even explained to me how to prepare the beverage. I will … I will be back in an instant.”

 

“Take d’Artagnan with you. He’ll help you, Tréville ordered.”

 

       As Lemay ran out of the room followed by an astonished Gascon, silence spread in Athos’ room. Porthos went over to Aramis who wasn’t sure of what he should say. He patted his friend’s shoulder.

 

“See, sometimes you only need a little bit of luck.”

 

       Athos felt dizzy, the loud screaming did not help his headache.

 

“Hold on a bit longer my son! Help is on its way.” Tréville pressed Athos’ hand. Silent tears made their way over his cheeks.

 

       Tréville cleared his throat:

 

“So in the meantime, it is time to find out when and where you were poisoned. So we need you awake a little longer. Can you manage that?”

 

“I will … give it … a try!” Athos said weakly.             

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

       Milady observed from a distance the two men running up the stairs of the entrance of the palace. They were in a hurry and nearly collided with Rochefort who was on his way to leave the palace. Milady did not like the new Captain of the Red Guards, he had something devilish in him and he wanted more and more power. She tried to avoid him as often as she could, but with her new position at the palace that was not so easy. As she came nearer she recognised the two running men as d’Artagnan and Doctor Lemay. Curious, she followed them.

 

       Lemay looked hectically around his office. He had left the note for the coffee on his desk, he was sure. While going through his papers he prompted d’Artagnan to take one of the bags containing the coffee beans hidden on a shelf.

 

“Shall I take the whole bag with us?” The young man asked.

 

“I would advise it!”

 

“We have to prepare the beverage with hot water, I think it is better, to do this at the garrison. It’s easier for us to bring it to the patient then.”

 

       D’Artagnan lifted the sack onto his shoulder.

 

“Ah, here it is!” Triumphantly, Lemay held the sheet of paper in the air. He reread the text and said: “Yes, we can prepare this beverage in Athos’ room.”

 

       D’Artagnan was ready to return.

 

“Let’s go doctor!” He urged.

 

“Wait!” Lemay told the Gascon, remembering that he had read something about belladonna in one of his books.

 

       He went to his shelf, pulled a very heavy book out and quickly flipped through the pages. D’Artagnan tried to stay calm. Athos needed help and he needed it soon. He was just ready to say  _ “can we go?” _ when Lemay exclaimed, “Glad that I checked it”.

 

       Without another explanation he stood up, went to the other side of his room and took a small package from a closed locker.

 

“This, my young friend, we will need as well!”                

 

“What is it?” D’Artagnan asked curiously.

 

“It is a potent drug that we can give to Athos for his immense pain. His throat is hurting him and it is very dry. I have read that patients with belladonna poisoning have difficulties with drinking and talking because of this unbearable pain. The pain can interfere with the breathing as well. We have to reduce his pain to take the stress from his body. But …” He looked at the Musketeer. “We can only give him a small quantity. It is called  _ Laudanum _ . Now, I am ready to go.”

 

       Milady had approached the door of Lemay’s office and was eavesdropping. As she heard the men coming back to the door she hurried to take several steps away. D’Artagnan opened the door and nearly collided with her. Surprised, he took several steps back and nearly dropped the sack.

 

“What a lovely surprise!” Milady told d’Artagnan with a bright smile. “What are you doing here?” She asked him, moving her body like a cat hunting a bird.

 

       Her eyes shone and she was now too close, her jasmine perfume invading his nostrils like a drug.

 

“I am sorry Milady, not now, we are in a hurry!” Lemay had already passed him and was hurrying back to their horses. D’Artagnan wanted to follow him, but Milady blocked his way.

 

“Is a Musketeer ill?” She asked a little too curiously.

 

       D’Artagnan wanted to ignore her.

 

“I really have to go!” He tried to get out of her way.

 

“This is the way you respect me after I saved your life, d’Artagnan?” Milady said reproachfully.

 

       D’Artagnan still holding the heavy sack on his shoulder, looked at her.

 

“Another time we can chat, but right now I have to help the doctor. One of our Musketeers is severely ill and believe me, I am thankful that you saved the King’s and my life!”

 

“Who is it?” Milady wanted to know now and her tone had become urgent.

 

       D’Artagnan not having enough time for her games, fastened the grip on the sack. Then as he finally passed her he said:

 

“It’s your husband. Athos!”     

 

       Without turning around or waiting for a reaction from this scheming woman, he hurried after Lemay and prayed that Athos was still alive and fighting this horrible poison.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_In the meantime, Athos’ room_ **

 

“Alright, let’s concentrate on Thursday! Porthos has told us that your first symptoms appeared in the night from Thursday to Friday. Can you remember where you were that day?”

 

       Athos had no idea what day it was. Confused he looked into Aramis’ eyes. Tréville had seen that expression before in his office on Friday afternoon. Athos’ eyes had looked in the distance and his normally awake eyes had been unfocused. With his enlarged pupils he definitely had difficulty seeing, but right now his stare reminded him that his Lieutenant felt lost.

 

“Athos, can you remember the day you helped me in my office with the palace guard!” Tréville tried to help.

 

       Athos tried to ignore the pounding ache in his head.

 

“That was the day … when d’Artagnan beat … me, right?”

 

“Let’s say it was the day when you slipped on the wet ground.” Porthos helped him.

 

“Yes, I … do ... recall.”

 

       Athos still had problems in articulating and his throat still hurt him a lot. Every time he had to speak or drink, he could feel the horrible dryness in his mouth and the pain both things caused.

 

“Alright, let’s get back to this day, before that, you helped with the stables.”

 

“Hmm ... I tried,” Athos admitted “... and ... I missed morning muster, I am so ...”

 

“Don’t think about that, Athos!” Tréville tried to stay calm.

 

       Athos needlessly blamed himself for everything. He was accurate, he was proud that he followed orders and he was much too stubborn to forgive himself a mistake.

 

“We know why you overslept that day. Poison. You know.” Aramis tried to help and ease the tense atmosphere in the room and the night before this morning muster, what can you remember?”

 

“Porthos had to carry ... me home. Por ..., I am … sorry … your … boots.”

 

“Rubbish, Athos. Forget the boots. You would have done the same for me. Can you recall something else from before that night?”

 

       Athos tried to remember.

 

“I ... was ... at the … palace … No … Anne … kissing ...” Athos sobbed.

 

       Aramis and Porthos exchanged irritated glances, while Tréville suddenly understood. Athos had seen his wife kissing the Monarch of France. A shocking situation even if the man had not been poisoned.

 

“And after that, you went to the tavern?”

 

“Ye … ssss!” Athos slurred.

 

       He wanted to sleep, to close his eyes and simply forget but his brothers wouldn’t let him forget.

 

“You have to stay awake for the coffee!” Aramis told him and slapped him slightly on his cheeks, so Athos opened his eyes again.

 

“That’s it! Were you stung by a bee or something that day?”

 

“Not that I … Mis. It stings … the woman … it’s dark, and … c … cold … the wind … hur … sss.” Athos slurred again and started to have difficulties breathing properly.

 

       While Aramis and Tréville tried to work out what Athos was trying to tell them, Porthos helped his bedridden brother to sit up again and pounded on his back.

 

“Try to cough! Yeah, that’s it!” Porthos encouraged him.

 

       He glared worriedly at the medic and his Captain and his eyes asked them how long they would be tormenting him with enquiries. 

 

       As Athos’ breathing eased, Aramis spoke again.

 

“Good, Athos, are you with us now?”

 

       He laid a hand on his forearm and continued:

 

“You said, a woman, who is the woman?”

 

“The woman … in the alley … the wind is so cold and it hurts … and … no, wait … it’s not that day … after … I went …”

 

“Calm down, Athos, think, take your time.” Aramis soothed him.

 

“Time!” Porthos snorted bitterly.

 

“Hush, Porthos!” Aramis chidded. “Now, Athos, you know it’s important, try to concentrate. Who is the woman?”

 

“I … remember … now … My scarf …When d’Artagnan …”

 

       He stopped abruptly and tried to sit up. He scanned the room anxiously.

 

“Where … where … is …”

 

“Shh … d’Artagnan is fine. He will be back soon …”

 

       Aramis tried to sooth him again, taking his hand, but his friend was more and more agitated, moving his legs restlessly.

 

“So, what about d’Artagnan, the scarf and the woman? Is there a connection between that and your wound? Try to tell me, slowly, breathe deeply if you can.”

 

“Remember, the fight … d’Artagnan … he …”

 

       He struggled again to catch his breath. Aramis squeezed his hand reassuringly.

 

“D’Artagnan borrowed my scarf for the …”

 

“Oh right, I understand. He used your scarf as a glove … But what does it have to do with this?”

 

“It was … more … more …” He tried to smile. “More a cobweb than … my precious scarf … after that … so … I went to … Madame Mireault’s shop … Rue … rue …  can’t ... near Rue Férou … it’s so dark … I’m cold … he seems in a hurry … or ... sheeee … the fig … ure.”

 

Porthos brought his fist to his mouth as Athos’ mind began to wander again. His eyes were huge with fear and sorrow.

 

“Calm down, shhh ... So you went to that shop to have your scarf repaired. Just say yes or no.”

 

“Ye … ss …”

 

“Then, what happened? You went to fetch it a few days afterwards?”

 

“Two …”

 

“Alright, can you remember something, or someone …?”

 

“I paid … her smile … she is so frail … she … her …”

 

“Athos, look at me!” Aramis seized his two hands and approached his face. “Look at me. Concentrate. What happened next? Remember, we need to know how you got that scratch on your chest.”

 

“Oh … She is a … good … seams … sss, but she … I’m so … happy … to … have it back … She fastens it … at … once … but … it …hurts, it hurts, my scarf … it hurts … there, just there …” Sluggishly he pointed with his hand on his chest.   

       He reached a hand to his neck as if to touch his scarf and closed his eyes trying to breathe deeply.

 

“No, no, no, no, Athos, please … don’t …” Aramis pleaded.

 

“And she … presses it … it hurts … but she presses even further … Her hand … She continues … But it hurts …” Athos continued. “I try … to … tell her … but she … smiles … why does she sm … her eyes … green ... wet …”

 

       Aramis cupped his cheeks and rubbed them frantically with his thumbs. At last, a small strip of green appeared and Athos continued, breathless:

 

“She is absent …”

 

“What?”

 

“The … face … absent  ...”

 

“Shh … Stay calm …” Aramis soothed him.

 

“Absent-minded” He made a pause. “She … I want to know … know why … it hurts, like a bee is caught … cau … ght in it … and … I ff … ind it.” He closed his eyes again.

 

“Athos, just one word. What did you find?” Aramis urged him.

 

“Two … f … aces …”

 

“Faces?”

 

“Aramis, leave him alone. Please!” Porthos pleaded in a weak voice.

 

       Tréville squeezed his shoulder. They had to know, even if it was a terrible ordeal for their friend.

 

“No … I want to sssay … the faces, in the fabric .... She had ll … eft it … in the fabbb … fabric.”

 

“Stay awake. Just one more thing, please, then you can sleep. Left what? What were these faces? Why are you saying left _ it _ ?”

 

“Aramis, stop it!” Porthos almost shouted.

 

“It’s … ight … Po … os.” Athos tried to reassure his friends, he had to tell them. “T … was … a  … a … pin … a long … pin.” He added breathless.

 

They all stayed silent, trying to understand.

 

“Where is this pin, now?” Aramis asked quietly.

 

“Floor … Mmmmh … hurtsss …” He sucked in a shallow breath. “Thr … in the gutt … gutter … thr ...”

 

“Shhh…, now, I understand.”

 

       Aramis bent forward and brushed his lips on the feverish forehead before guiding his friend’s head onto the pillow.

 

“Sleep, my friend.”

 

And his eyes met the hurt and terrified look of Porthos while Tréville tried to control his own emotions.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ Calm. _

_ Whispered words. _

_ Someone’s face a few inches from his. _

_ A low rumble in his ear. _

 

_ Calm. _

_ He closes his eyes. _

_ He breathes in a fragrance of lavender and straw. _

 

_ Calm. _

_ Rough linen against his burning cheek. _

_ Salted water soaking the pillow. _

_ He tries to turn his head, tries to hide his shame. _

_ A hand in his hair. Caressing. Soothing. _

 

_ Calm. _

_ It will sting. A lot. _

_ He knows it will. _

_ But he flinches nonetheless. _

_ He tries to escape. _

_ Turns his face again towards the soothing voice. _

_ Two hands cup his face now. _

_ The low rumble at his back. _

_ The warm breath on his face. _

 

_ Calm. _

_ And the pain again. Excruciating. _

_ Gentle thumbs caressing his cheekbones. _

 

_ Let go. Let go. _

_ He tries to stay awake. _

_ He needs to know. _

_ And the pain. Again. Again. _

 

_ The voice at his back apologises. _

_ The voice at his back is broken. _

_ The voice in his ear is trembling. _

_ Let go, brother. _

_ Don’t fight. _

 

_ The lovely doll? He asks. _

 

_ Calm. Silence. _

_ Deafening silence. _

_ Safe. She is safe. _

_ Now he can let go. _

_ A hand wiping away his tears. _

 

_ Let go, brother. _

_ So, he lets go. _


	15. What is this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your nice words.
> 
> Enjoy this new chapter.  
> ♥♥♥ 

 

⚔⚔

 

        Tréville let Aramis do the questioning and he quietly stepped to one side. Hearing Athos’ slurring, having trouble remembering  and being in such  great pain, made him more angry with every minute. He had seen his Lieutenant suffering and his two friends, Aramis and Porthos, agonising with themselves, while trying to obtain vital information from the sick man. He wanted to shout at someone, wanted to punch someone, but he couldn’t. He had to stay calm and strong for all of them. He was glad that he had sent d'Artagnan with Lemay. At least, the young Gascon wouldn’t have to witness that he had ordered them to question a sick man to obtain answers and results. He felt guilty, dazed and his headache started to increase. He could hear Athos’ uneven breathing while his exhaustion pulled him into another restless sleep. He could see that Aramis and Porthos were both trying to hold their tears back and were ready to explode. They needed to talk about what they had just heard and they needed to reflect over it.

 

_Is it an attack against us as Musketeers and you Athos have been the first victim?_

_Did  you overhear something you shouldn’t have heard regarding the trade summit and now they need you dead in order to reach their goals?_

_Or is it something personal?_ _I need to think about that as quickly as possible._

 

        His glance wandered through Athos’ room. Aramis tried to gather himself, while sorting and checking his herbs and salves and preparing another pain potion. Porthos had returned to the chair at the head of Athos’ bed and was sponging his comrade’s still very warm face, ready to protect him from further harm. Tréville looked at the weak body of his Musketeer.

 

_You would know what to do next, Athos. With your analytical thinking, you would already have formed a plan and how we should move forward  but this time you need us to do the thinking for you ._

 

        His eyes suddenly spotted an odd item on the floor under Athos’ bed. It was dim because they still tried to keep all lights out of the room to help Athos’ vision problems.

 

_What is this?_

 

        Curious, he went towards the bed and bent down to pick up the cloth but dropped it at once. Aramis noticed his Captain’s reaction and, immediately, realisation hit him.

 

“Wash your hands, now, Captain!” He shouted at his commanding officer, ignoring that Athos was asleep.

 

        He grabbed a jug of water and poured it over Tréville’s hands giving him the brownish soap. Tréville began to rub frantically at his hands until they became a bright red. Angrily, he shouted:

 

“Those bastards, they did not only poison him with a pin, they even put some of the poison on his scarf. There is still an oily substance on it.”

 

“But how is it that Athos didn’t notice this substance on his scarf?” Aramis asked.

 

“You know Athos, he always wears his precious gloves, if the man could wear a mask, he would do it!” Tréville grunted.

 

        Porthos turned around. He looked for his gloves, put them on and grabbed the scarf.

 

“What are you doing?” Aramis asked his brother.

 

“I want this poisonous thing away from him. I will take it to my room and we can examine it later. But right now … it shouldn’t be in the room where he is fighting for his life!”

 

        With these angry words, Porthos left the room. Aramis took a second look at Tréville’s hands but he had been fast enough so the oily poison had not entered his skin. Relieved, he looked into Tréville’s frustrated face.

 

“Captain, I think it is best if Porthos and I go to check this shop where Athos had his scarf repaired. Maybe we will find  further answers  there ”

 

“Right now, I think it’s good for all of us if you two go and get some fresh air. I will wait here for the Doctor and d'Artagnan and we’ll have two guards all the time in front of Athos’ door.”

 

“Let’s wait for Porthos and then we’ll discuss what else we have to do!” Aramis suggested. “I think you have already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

 

“I will tell you as soon as Porthos is back here!”     

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Do you think Lemay can help Athos with this “ _cof...flea_ ”, I mean coffee?”

 

        Porthos was walking with Aramis through the streets of Paris. They made their way through small streets, crossed a market place and looked for the shop where Athos had taken his scarf several days ago.

 

“I hope so, Porthos!”

 

        Aramis looked tired. He hadn’t slept in days and he had eaten very little. The worry about  his sick brother had not allowed him to take care of himself. Porthos tried to brush away his own worry for his friend. His thigh was still itching from time to time, but what he had endured several days ago was nothing compared to what Athos was experiencing right now. Athos would have told him that his thinking was nonsense. He missed his silent friend at his side. Aramis was deep in thought but Porthos needed to talk, to think  out what was going on, so he looked  at Aramis again:

 

“Do you think the Captain is right?”

 

        A little earlier, with Athos still asleep, they had listened to Tréville’s thoughts about the attack against Athos.

 

“Of course it can be a random attack on us as Musketeers, or perhaps it has something to do with the trade summit, but I doubt it. I think that it is something personal against Athos.” Tréville had stated in a quiet voice, anxious not to disturb his sick soldier.

 

“What makes you think that it is something personal, Captain?” Aramis had asked.

 

“Of course, I could be wrong, but it is the way he was harmed. Let’s say it has something to do with the trade summit. Let’s imagine that someone wants to try to kill the King and Athos has overheard something - knowingly or unknowingly - they would not bother to look for a poison,   they would have shot or knifed him, instead. Time would  be very precious, so that he couldn’t tell other people about what he’d heard . Besides Athos didn’t mentioned anything suspicious about the summit and the ongoing preparations. Even in the state he’s been in during these past days, he would have used all the strength he had left to tell us something.” Tréville sighed.

 

“True!” Porthos agreed, knowing that serving the King as a Musketeer was the most important duty in Athos’ life.

 

“And if it is an attack against us as Musketeers?” Porthos asked curiously.

 

“Then why only him?” Tréville spoke in the dark. “If there is someone who wants to attack us, as the King’s Musketeers, he would search for another chance to affect as many Musketeers as possible, by a bomb or poisoned food for all of us.”

 

        Aramis nodded in consent. He had  already speculated about this too.

 

“Then, it is something personal!” Porthos concluded.

 

“Yes, it is. The person doesn’t only want to see him dead, but wants to see him suffer first.” Tréville looked angrily in the darkness of the room.

 

        They could all hear Athos moaning in his sleep and Tréville told them to start with their research, while he was waiting for the Doctor and d'Artagnan to return.

 

“Aramis! … Aramis?” Porthos stopped and grabbed one of Aramis’ shoulders. Aramis came to an abrupt still stand.

 

“What? Sorry, I was thinking.”

 

“Yeah, I can see that!”

 

“What are you asking?”

 

“If you share the opinion of the Captain, that it is something personal?”

 

“I think the Captain has a point there!” Aramis said absent-mindedly.

 

        Porthos was angry with the world right now, the only person to come first to his mind was Milady, Athos’ wife. Last year she wanted d'Artagnan to kill Athos and later Athos threatened to kill her if she ever returned to Paris. Now she was back.

 

“Do you think it was Milady?”

 

“I asked myself the very same question, Porthos. But …”

                                               

“But what … the King has granted her his protection and forgiven her all her sins and she saved d'Artagnan’s life and even if she tried to kill Athos last year … I have the feeling that … that she wouldn’t do it. Not now!”

 

“We can go and ask her right now, Aramis!”

 

“Porthos, let’s stay focused. First we’ll  talk to this seamstress who Athos met for his scarf. Let’s see what she has to say. Besides I doubt that Milady would admit to such a deed if we were to ask her. The perpetrator wanted us to believe that Athos has the flu,  let’s play along for a while.”

 

        They had started walking again and were now in front of the shop of the seamstress. Porthos knocked with his fist on the door but no one answered, it was still daytime. Questioningly he looked at Aramis, then he opened the unbolted door. Aramis followed him into the quiet room. It was dark,  too dark,  bales of fabric were neatly stored on the shelves running along the whitewashed walls. They reached the low ceiling with its dark oak beams. The smell was suffocating: dust, plants used to dye, cold soot, beeswax and something more musky. Aramis left the door open to allow a little daylight to enter the room but it wasn’t enough to see beyond the old counter covered in threads, needles, pins and pieces of fabric and lace.

 

“It’s odd, the shop is empty!” Porthos said.

 

_Nothing. But what had he hoped to find? The person who had done this to his friend?_

 

“And it’s weird, it’s as if the seamstress has left her shop in the middle of working. Look, she was working on a dress. The whole shop is tidy if too dark and smelly, she wouldn’t have left without cleaning and at least folding the dress to store it somewhere  and all those threads on the floor. There is a broom there, so she would … oh ...”

 

        Aramis lit a candle.

 

“Look, here, a glass is broken on the floor. And this chair is broken too. Something happened.” Aramis said, worried.

 

        Slowly he looked around and noticed a second door that probably led to the private quarters of the seamstress.

 

“Hello, is anybody here?” He shouted louder than he’d expected to.

 

        The closer he approached the door, the more he became aware of an acrid smell, which he recognised very well. It was the odour of death. Slowly he pushed the second door open and on  a bed against the wall, the lifeless body of an middle-age woman was lying.  As he drew nearer to her he had to put his hand in front of his nose and mouth. A closer look and he could see both of her hands covered in a scarlet rash. The face of the woman was sunken and he could tell that she must have been dead for several days. Flies were droning around her body. He stumbled some paces back. Porthos who had followed him exclaimed:

 

“That’s not good! That’s not good at all!”

 

        Then he also covered his mouth and nose.    

 

“We can do no more for her so don’t touch her. Do you see those red spots on her hands? She was exposed to the same poison as Athos. I am not sure if she knew it, but he said that he could feel a pin in his chest. If I had to guess, I’d say that this pin was poisoned too. So whoever wanted to see Athos dead had forced this lady to poison him. He knew that she would be killed by the very same poison too.” Aramis couldn’t continue, he needed fresh air.

 

        He turned around:

 

“Let’s go! The best we can do is inform the priest and her family. She can give us no more information ...”

 

        Aramis quickly left the room and the shop. Once outside, he noticed that his knees were shaking and he started to tremble. He felt Porthos’ hand on his back.

 

“Woaah, Aramis!”

 

“It’s … it’s alright!” Aramis stammered.

 

“No, it’s not, but it will be!” Porthos looked concerned at the medic.

 

        Usually he was a man who had no problems viewing a corpse but now Aramis was trying not to vomit on the muddy pavement.  

 

_I hope that this time my boots will stay unharmed._

 

        As Porthos looked down at the cobbled street, he could see something very small glistening in the reflection of the sunlight. Curious he went on his knees, looked at it and held a bloody pin in his glove.

 

“Aramis, I think I have found the pin which poisoned Athos!”

 

“How can you know that it’s THE pin?” asked Aramis.

 

“Blood.” Porthos answered sternly.

 

        Aramis had pulled himself together again, without being sick in the street. He tried to blink tears away as he looked at the pin in Porthos hand

 

“This is Athos’ blood on it!” He said bitterly.

 

        He suddenly began to cry and tried to compose himself but he was too distraught. Porthos put the pin in a secure place in his saddle bag, then he laid an arm over Aramis’ shoulders and guided him to the closest church,[ Saint-Joseph des Carmes.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89glise_Saint-Joseph-des-Carmes) He pushed the door open and they entered the sanctuary. It had been consecrated a few years earlier, in the dark year when _the Inséparables_ had met, and it was like entering a reliquary or a jewel box. A golden light bathed the high walls and the painted vaults. Pale sun rays licked the paintings through the small arched windows inside the dome above their heads. Porthos led the still sobbing Aramis to the next pew and then settled next to him. He let his gaze wander on the fascinating scenes all around them, on the dark pink marble columns on each side of the high altar, on the hieratic statues and finally, at the back of the choir, onto a reassuring picture of Christ dressed in white veils with a loving expression. He had hoped that Aramis would calm down a little, but the sobs continued to wrack his body.

 

“What is it, Aramis?” Porthos asked quietly. “You can tell me!”

 

        Aramis pulled himself together and still hiccuping, he looked into Porthos’ deep brown understanding eyes.

 

“First you and now, Athos … I …!”            

 

“First things first, I’m fine again.”

 

“I am sorry, Porthos, I wasn’t there when you needed me, I failed you!”

 

“That’s rubbish, Aramis! You have not failed me.”

 

        But deep in himself Aramis knew that it had been his fault that Porthos had been injured and captured by the Spanish soldiers. He hadn’t concentrated enough. As the baby cried he had changed his position to check. He stood up abruptly.

 

“I didn’t take the shot at the market place …!”

 

“You didn’t have any chance, there were too many people around, the whole thing was a trap for us! Forget about it, please.”

 

        Aramis sighed deeply. He couldn’t tell Porthos. His secret was too important, too dangerous to share. Oh, how much he hated that he couldn’t talk with Porthos about his affair, his child … Porthos gathered Aramis against him, tightening his grip when he felt a shudder running through his friend’s body.

 

“And now Athos … “ Aramis breathed. “Seeing this woman dead, if Athos …”

 

        Porthos loosened his hold to look at his friend.

 

“Hey, Aramis. Athos is strong and he can fight it, but he will need you for this. So now is not the time to be anxious! Understood!”

 

“If Athos had been exposed to a higher dose, he … How could we have missed  the red mark on his chest? How? Why didn’t I check him over ...?”

 

        Aramis clapped the back of his hand to his mouth and looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep his tears from falling. He tried to breathe more deeply, to clench his jaw. He swallowed convulsively, but nothing worked. He turned his back to Porthos and brought both of his hands to his face, hiding his eyes. Despite his huge efforts, tears started to escape through his fingers. Porthos rounded him and laid a hand at the base of his neck.   

 

“Aramis, Aramis, look at me, look at me.”

 

        Aramis raised his wet face, his brown eyes were huge and tired and so sad, he seemed so young, so far from the soldier, the lover, the talker everyone knew.

 

“I am sure that Athos will fight it! And do you know why?”

 

“Why, Porthos?”

 

“Because he has you on his side!”

 

        Aramis looked up and his tears stopped.

 

“Not only me, all of us. You are right.”

 

“Maybe we can go back to this shop and look for any letters, notes?” Porthos told his friend in order to help him concentrate..

 

“You are right, Porthos and if that doesn’t give us any clue, we we’ll ask around. Someone, somebody must have seen something.”

 

        Aramis sent a silent prayer to God, asking him to let Athos survive and thanking him that Porthos was still with them. Catching up with Porthos who was now back at the door of the shop, Aramis grabbed his friend’s forearm. Porthos turned around.

 

“What is it, Aramis?”

 

“Thank you, Porthos.”

 

        Porthos smiled, winked and shrugged. Time to move on and to forget the tears.

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

 

“An ...ne …”

 

“What?” Tréville opened  his eyes, confused.

 

        He had settled himself next to Athos, with a hand on his hand. His Lieutenant had started to breathe more evenly and he looked less restless. To nurse his headache the Captain had closed his eyes, still thinking about all the things that had happened in the past few days. He thought about the summit, about Rochefort’s penetrating voice, about the stupid ideas he whispered into the King’s mind, about Athos’ sudden illness, weakness and poisoning. Since the death of the Cardinal the world had become more and more complicated for him. A thought crossed his mind. Hadn’t his Lieutenant feared that with the return of Rochefort their lives would begin to become more insecure. With a new wanna-be-leader in the ring, they all had to struggle and they noticed that their King had turned more and more into a moody child rather than a rational statesman. He found himself wishing that Cardinal Richelieu was still alive.

 

_Unbelievable. What am I thinking? He tried to kill the Queen!_

 

        But at least he had known Richelieu and with Rochefort he never knew what to expect. Next to him an exhausted sick man tried to wake up again.

 

“Shhh ... Athos! It’s alright. Try to rest and relax a bit more, the Doctor is on his way with the antidote”

 

        Athos blinked and opened his eyes. His big black pupils were unfocused.

 

“Wha … !” He slurred his throat burning fiercely and he hoped that he could ease the pain with some more cold water.

 

“Easy!” Tréville bent over his weak Lieutenant and helped him drink out of the cup. Every single sip hurt Athos’ throat.

 

_Well, that wasn’t such a good idea._

 

        After the fourth gulp he turned his head away and Tréville put the cup back on the nightstand next to his bed. Athos felt tired but agitated at the same time and he couldn’t sleep. Every time he tried to go back to sleep he had thought of Anne, his wife. Why? The realisation came  back slowly.

 

“Do you …. Anne … poi … me?” He panted breathless.

 

        He closed his eyes, angry with himself because he couldn’t see his Captain clearly and he still couldn’t articulate a whole phrase. Tréville groaned inwardly. Of course, Athos asked himself the very same question as they all did. He wanted to know who had poisoned him.

 

“Do you think she has done it, Athos? Did you see her before or after you were poisoned? Has she told you lately that she wants to see you dead?”

 

        Athos head was buzzing, he felt dizzy and suddenly the sickness hit him again. He tried to get up, but he was too weak, panting for air and struggling to breathe, he could feel his hands starting to tremble again, then his feet, then his whole body.

 

“I can’t …” He tried to tell Tréville that he couldn’t get enough air. He felt the water he’d just drunk coming back to his throat and he tried to swallow it, opening his mouth and fighting to catch his breath.

 

        Tréville had jumped from his chair. Seeing Athos having trouble breathing, he bent over, put a hand behind his back and moved Athos gently but quickly into a sidewise position, his head to the right side of the bed. After he had positioned his back, he helped to turn the rest of Athos’ body and the shaking legs as well to the right side. Athos opened his mouth, he couldn’t hold back the water any longer on which he had nearly choked and he vomited it onto the floor. Tears of pain and shame were swelling up in his eyes and made their way slowly over his reddish cheeks.

 

“It’s alright. Get it out, get it all out!”

 

        Tréville ignored that Athos’ stomach was only bringing back saliva on the floor.  While Athos was still retching and heaving he made small circles on his back. Athos stopped heaving, the dizziness left him and Tréville’s comforting hand on his back helped to calm him down again.   The trembling in his body stopped, and exhausted he tried to roll back onto his spine, but Tréville held him in this position.

 

“I think you breathe better when you stay  like this.”

 

        The Captain laid some more pillows to support his back and head so that he could not lie on his back again. Then gently, he started to wipe his face and in order to distract his soldier he started:

 

“Milady threatened to kill you, but she said it a year ago. Now she is back and the King has granted her forgiveness for all her deeds.”

 

        As Athos looked at him, a bit surprised, he added.

 

“Aramis has told me.”

 

        He stopped cleaning Athos’ face and put his hand back at his spine. He was now sitting on another chair to support the back of his soldier better. Athos’ breathing had settled a bit, but was still disturbed.

 

“So … don’t … thin …!”

 

“Honestly, I don’t know Athos.”

 

        Tréville locked eyes with him, but as he realised that Athos  could only see a blurred image he squeezed his shoulder instead.

 

“Aramis and Porthos are checking out the shop of the seamstress where you took your scarf. I am sure they will find answers.”

 

“We will find whoever has done this to you! I promise!”

 

        Tréville wanted to continue, but he was disturbed by a light knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Lemay and d'Artagnan. As he turned his head to greet them, Athos’ breathing worsened again.  

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A little earlier in Le Louvre_ **

 

_Vengeance tastes sweet._

 

        An evil grin escaped a figure standing at a window in one of the many rooms of _Le Louvre._

 

 _The plan was brilliant and it worked …_

_Soon, very soon, Athos of the Musketeers or the Comte de la Fère will be no more ._

_He will be erased from the surface of the Earth._

 

        Another grin escaped the figure’s lips watching the Doctor hurrying away.

 

_No one makes me look a fool. No one!_

_You deserve to suffer, Athos, and you will never know that it was me who did this to you._

_Never!!!_

 

        Someone was coming. So the figure stepped away from the window and prepared the next plans.

 

_To be continued ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saint-Joseph-des-Carmes
> 
> https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89glise_Saint-Joseph-des-Carmes  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89glise_Saint-Joseph-des-Carmes


	16. Walnuts, smoke and caramel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual we thank our good angels, Beth and Helensg.
> 
> Please keep reading and reviewing! Thank you 
> 
> ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

  

          Lemay’s clever dark eyes quickly assessed the state of his patient. He left d'Artagnan standing at the door and hurried next to Tréville.

 

“His breathing?” He asked the Captain.

 

“Yes, he has had problems and he vomited all the water he drank.”

 

“Athos!” Lemay called his patient and Athos sluggishly opened his feverish eyes .

 

“We will elevate your body slightly so that you can breathe more easily and you have to repeat the breathing exercises I showed you.”

 

         D’Artagnan drew nearer to the bed of his mentor where he could see and feel Athos’ distress. Without any words, he stepped next to Tréville and following the instructions from the doctor he helped to sit Athos up a little. Athos could feel the caring hands of d'Artagnan steadying his back, but he couldn’t speak. His throat was burning like fire and that made it difficult for him to breathe and vomiting onto the floor had further intensified his pain. He felt a touch on his chest. Lemay had laid his ear on it and listened to his lungs and his heart. He straightened himself up again.

 

“I think that the pain in his throat is making it difficult for him to breathe even though his lungs are free. Before we can start giving him any coffee, we have to give him laudanum and wait a while. We must reduce his pain otherwise he will not be able to let the coffee stay in his stomach.”   

 

“But the antidote, shouldn’t it be given as soon as possible?” Tréville wanted to know.

 

“Athos’ body is still strong enough and, with the bath,  you have reduced his high temperature. So, first laudanum, but only a small amount, too much won’t be good for his breathing either. Then we'll let him sleep for an hour before we try the coffee.” Lemay  decided.

 

         Athos was only half listening, he was very tired and busy trying to breathe. He recognised d'Artagnan whispering words in his ear and he simply listened and followed his instruction.

 

“Breathe with me! Open your mouth. In … and … out.” 

 

         D’Artagnan repeated his instructions and Athos listened to his reassuring voice. As he slowly followed his words, Athos' breathing difficulties eased and he relaxed. Sluggishly he let his head sink onto d'Artagnan’s chest. Lemay stepped next to him.

 

“Open your mouth!” 

 

         Athos followed the instruction. He felt a spoon enter his mouth and a few drops of a bitter liquid fall onto his tongue. It was a strange taste. Lemay asked him to swallow it and massaged his Adam’s apple to help him. Then Lemay removed all the pillows from his back, and d'Artagnan laid him flat again.

 

“Try to sleep!”

 

         Athos felt his eyes drooping. For the first time in days he succumbed to a nearly dreamless relaxing sleep and his breathing evened out.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Laudanum?” Aramis looked worriedly at Lemay. “Do you really think this is a good idea with his breathing difficulties?”

 

         He and Porthos had returned shortly after Athos was given the laudanum and Aramis checked over his sleeping friend. Sitting down on the chair next to him, he laid his hand on his brother’s chest to convince himself that Athos’ heart was still beating and his lungs were still working.  He could feel a slower heartbeat, it was better than it had been for several days and he looked surprised at Lemay.  The doctor who had observed Aramis worriedly checking over his friend valued the knowledge of the battlefield medic. 

 

_ You would have been a fine doctor. _ He thought.

 

“ It's true that laudanum can be addictive and it can cause breathing problems if given too much but right now our priority is to calm the patient and ease the pain in his throat. Then he will be less distressed and able to drink the antidote.”

 

         He smiled reassuringly at the Musketeers who looked at him anxiously.

“Nevertheless we have to use as little as possible of this medication. It’s better when we try other things like herbal teas with honey, coffee and I would suggest you  bath him tomorrow again.His fever has decreased slightly and is not as high as it was yesterday. If possible try to keep him awake, speak to him, the more awake he is the better, that way you can measure his breathing and help  him if he starts to have difficulties again.”

 

         He made a short pause.

 

“I think I will start to prepare the coffee and maybe you, Aramis, can assist me with this.” 

 

         He wanted to encourage the medic to learn a little more about medicine. Tréville looked at his exhausted men and his eyes rested on d'Artagnan. Sorrow and worry were written all over his face, but he looked much fitter than the rest of them.. 

 

“If I may, Doctor, I would like to borrow Porthos and Aramis. If something changes in the state of health of my Lieutenant I want to be informed at once but I think it is time to let him rest and the fewer people in here the better.” His eyes wandered around the room one more time and settled on his sleeping soldier. 

 

“D’Artagnan can you help the doctor prepare the coffee? I will instruct our cook Serge to give you everything you need.”

 

         Even if it didn’t sound like an order, because Tréville spoke as softly as possible, Aramis and Porthos followed their Captain without any objection but of course, not without laying their eyes one last time on their sick friend.

 

         D’Artagnan went over to Lemay and asked him quietly what he would need. Tréville threw a last glance at his bedridden soldier.  His peaceful sleep had settled his own stressed nerves a bit. Now was not the time to sit around him and wait for him to wake up again. They had a doctor there and d'Artagnan would calm Athos. Now was the time to find out what his men had discovered and to move on with their investigation. He was sure that he would be needed at the palace sooner or later and he wanted to make sure that no further harm would come to Athos. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Captain’s office_ **

 

         It was already dark outside and Tréville had lit the fire in his office. Aramis and Porthos had taken their seats at Tréville’s table, opposite to him. Thanks to d'Artagnan, his desk now looked clean and tidy. The important papers were in order in small piles. Tréville himself had asked Serge to bring up food and wine and he told him to give Dr. Lemay all that he he would need to prepare the antidote “coffee”. Porthos foot rested on a stool and next to his chair he had laid his saddlebag. Aramis was sipping at a glass of wine and half-heartedly chewing a piece of bread with cheese. Tréville looked at their little circle, they were all tired, exhausted and their nerves were on the edge. 

 

“ Tell me about what you have discovered and then I want you both to go and rest. You need sleep, both of you!” He emphasised with a strict glare in their direction.

 

“I just wanted to advise you the same, Captain.”

 

         Aramis looked into the tired eyes of Tréville. He had aged in the last days. His  features looked exhausted, several wrinkles were plastered on his forehead and his hair looked more grey than blonde. In moments like this one, Aramis could always tell that their Captain cared for them. He was a fine Commander.  Porthos who was still angry with Tréville because he wouldn’t tell him more about his father, brushed his own wishes away to focus on the immediate matter. Who had tried to kill Athos?

 

“Alas, the seamstress can’t help us!” Porthos started his report.

 

“How that?” Tréville asked eating a small piece of cheese.

 

“She is dead!” Aramis answered gloomily. “I suppose that she was forced by someone to poison Athos’ scarf and hurt him with the pin. Maybe someone threatened  to kill someone in her family. We still have to investigate that.”

 

“We found the woman dead in her bed. She had the same scarlet red rash on her hands that Athos has on his chest.” Porthos added. “Poor woman, if she really was forced to do it …” 

 

         Porthos tried to get rid of the picture of the dead woman. He shook his head before he continued:

 

“We shouldn’t tell Athos, he liked her, he said something like that this morning. He would blame himself.”

 

         Silence settled over the group. All three of them knew how Athos could blame himself for something for a very long time.

  

“Did you find something else, a note that maybe gives us a hint about who could be behind this dreadful attack?” Tréville asked.

 

“We checked her shop but we were unlucky. We tried to talk to neighbours but they have not heard from her in days or seen anything suspicious.” Aramis added tiredly. 

 

He tried to forget that he’d nearly given up that afternoon, he caught Porthos’ anxious look. He obviously thought of the same moment and worried about his friend.

 

“So everything points to this shop.” Tréville concluded. “...and we have no answers because the only witness and  also the person who was forced to poison Athos is dead? Am I right?” 

 

“We found the pin!” Porthos exclaimed suddenly. The lack of sleep had nearly made him forget about it. “It was outside of the shop, lying in the street.”

 

“What makes you so sure that it is the pin with which Athos was poisoned?” Tréville asked, exactly the same words Aramis had used this afternoon.

 

“Because there is blood on it!” 

 

         Porthos took his saddlebag and took a handkerchief out of it. Carefully he showed the bloody pin to the Captain. The pin wasn’t a usual pin a dressmaker would use to sew. It was a thick long jabot pin, twisted in the middle as if it had been used to pierce a hard surface. But maybe a carriage had rolled on it after Athos had thrown it in the gutter.   Aramis, who hadn’t carefully looked at it when Porthos had found it, observed the object shining in his friend’s handkerchief. The small cameo at the top represented a strange face. Actually, two faces, back to back, or rather a same person with two faces. The figure stood out in cream-white on dark reddish orange.

 

_ You don’t see such a design very often. _ Tréville thought to himself.

 

“Let me see.” Aramis asked leaning between Porthos and Tréville. 

 

“What is this monster?” Porthos asked.

 

“Mmmh … I think it’s Janus.”

 

“Janus?” Porthos asked.

 

“He was the God of the beginnings, of the doors or passages and of the endings. His eyes were turned towards the past and towards the future at the same time. He presided over war and peace and had something to do with trading and travelling.”

 

“Wow, Aramis, I am impressed! How do you know this?” Porthos asked baffled.

 

“I don’t only read Ronsard and  _ Saint Luc _ or  _ Saint Mathieu _ , you know!” Aramis smiled at Porthos.

 

“And the stone?” Tréville asked. “Is it a precious one?”

 

“I think it’s carnelian, not the most precious of gems. Some cameos are made of amethyst, emerald, garnet, which are more precious, but the object itself is precious. The pin is made of a rather pure gold.  It belonged to a rich person.”

 

“Now, we must find the rich man, or rich woman who decided that it looked better on Athos’ chest than on his own jabot.” Porthos growled, feeling the familiar anger coming back.

 

“At least we now have proof that Athos was poisoned in this shop and not somewhere else!” 

 

         Tréville tried to be positive. 

 

“With his concentration problems, it could have been easy for him to mix up places.” Tréville yawned. “Alright, let me summarise: This is what we have learned for now. We know where Athos was poisoned and we know the seamstress poisoned him and how she did it. Due to the fact that she didn’t survive we can assume that she was forced to do it.” 

 

         Tréville paused and Aramis continued:       

 

“Someone must have watched Athos over a longer period to find out where he was going and what he was doing. He or she made a plan  not to kill Athos at once, but to make him suffer beforehand . The more we talk about it, the more I am convinced that this is something personal against Athos. You are right, Captain!” Aramis exclaimed angrily.

 

“But who would be evil enough to kill Athos with a devilish poison?” Porthos thought out loud. “Milady wouldn’t be that wicked would she?” 

 

“She is the only person we know who has publicly threatened to kill Athos, even Athos is thinking about this fact.” Tréville told them.

 

“Does he think she has done it?” Aramis asked curiously.

 

“He is too confused right now, he doesn't know what to think. He is suffering and can’t think clearly enough in his condition, but I can tell you that he hopes that she had nothing to do with it!”

 

         Porthos pounded with his fist on Tréville’s desk making the other two Musketeers flinch.

 

“There must be a way to find out, I'll ask her, possibly threaten her ...”

 

“Porthos!” Aramis tried to calm him.

 

“What?” The streetfighter shouted angrily.

 

“We will ask her tomorrow, but we have to consider that someone else could be the perpetrator as well.”

 

“Who, Aramis?”

 

         Aramis sighed. He had thought about it all day long. Now he looked first at Porthos and then at his Captain.

 

“Remember, last year Athos had to fence against the Duke of Savoy and he beat him drawing blood! He humiliated him!” Aramis continued.

 

Tréville sucked in air.

 

“Aramis, without proof, don’t go there!” Tréville stated firmly.  

 

Aramis looked  at him angrily:

 

“Why not, this man killed twenty Musketeers for no reason and now he's back. He hates King Louis and was publicly humiliated by Athos. Aramis was now standing and directed the rest of his words towards Tréville

 

         Tréville stood up as well.

 

“Enough Aramis, I know that you are angry, I know that you are scared, we all are, but before we accuse King Louis’ brother-in-law, we need proof and without proof these dangerous thoughts could lead to war with Spain. So please, be careful before laying such a charge.” Tréville had spoken loudly much too loudly. He hadn’t wanted to shout at Aramis.

 

         Aramis was on his way to the door.

 

“Aramis!” Tréville tried with a softer voice, but Aramis was not able to return or to say one more word. 

 

         He left the room but once outside he noticed that he was shaking again and tears were running down his face. He pulled himself together, wiped his face and made his way to Athos’ room. He wanted to find out how he could prepare this antidote called “coffee”. Porthos stood up too. He looked at Tréville:

 

“I think we all are a little overstressed right now!” He excused his friend’s behaviour.

 

“I know, Porthos.” Tréville smiled at Porthos but Porthos continued. “As you have stated before, we all need sleep tonight. I will check on Athos and then settle for tonight and tomorrow I will start my researches. I will ask d'Artagnan if he has seen or experienced any strange or odd behaviour towards Athos in the last weeks. He is young, curious and most of the time he and Athos are together and our swordsman sometimes tells him more things than he tells us. Goodnight Captain!”

 

         Porthos limped slowly to the door, then he looked one last time at Tréville.

 

“I really appreciate what you are doing for Athos right now, Captain. I only wish that when all of this is over and Athos is safe and sound that you and I can sit down and have a talk about my father. Secrets are poison too. You should know that.”

 

Porthos didn’t wait for an answer and left the Captain’s office. Tréville sat down at his desk, exhausted, angry and more than worried. 

 

_ I only want to protect my men, Athos, Aramis and  you Porthos. If only you could understand this ... _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜     

 

“So, d’Artagnan, now, we have all the necessary items. Here are a few coffee beans, you must grind them in this mortar. The powder must be a very fine powder, I rely on your strength, young man. Remember, very fine, as fine as the grains of sand on a beach.”

 

“I am not very well acquainted with beaches.”

 

“Well,  the sand of the Seine is sometimes very fine and smooth too.”

 

         So d’Artagnan started his task. Soon, the only noise in the room was the scratching sound of the pestle in the stone mortar. The whole room filled with this smell so new to the nostrils of the young Gascon, a tangy, strong, warm and slightly bitter smell. 

 

“Is the taste like the smell?” D’Artagnan asked. “There is something in it which reminds me of the smell of walnuts and … smoke … and … caramel ...” He sniffled again “And … rust?” He finished, unsure.

 

         The smell must have reached Athos’ nostrils or the sounds his ears as he stirred on his mattress.

 

“Is it enough?” D’Artagnan asked.

 

“Yes, I think it’s perfect. And your sense of smell is brilliant, it’s very useful in my work, you know. I should employ you and Aramis as my assistants!” 

 

“Mmmh. No, thank you … I couldn’t stay confined the whole day, surrounded by vials and dry plants and other strange and unidentified things you must keep in your rooms.”

 

         Lemay laughed and took the coffee from d’Artagnan’s hands. He poured it  into  a pot of fresh water.

 

“You don’t need to boil the water first?” D’Artagnan asked, surprised.

 

“It will boil, but slowly, in the hearth.”

 

“Oh, so, we have to wait.” D’Artagnan replied.

 

         Patience wasn’t his best quality but he would have done anything to heal his mentor.   So they waited regularly stirring the brown mixture. Lemay told him about his studies, about the countries he had visited. D’Artagnan told him about his childhood, the plants he knew from his mother and about convulsions and poisoning. And his eyes watered a little at the memory. Lemay hurried to change the topic and soon they were speaking of Constance … and both men became nervous. They were saved by a bubbling sound. 

 

“I think it’s nearly ready.” Lemay said, rising to retrieve the pot from the hearth with a thick cloth. “Now we must let the powder settle at the bottom of the pot.”

 

Silently, they observed the fragrant beverage. The smell was now more sweet, spicy and warm. 

 

“How will he drink or eat that … er … mush?”

 

“He won’t consume this mush as you call it, but we will make him drink the liquid. Only a few spoonfuls. I heard that in Turkey, the powder settled at the bottom of the receptacle is used to read the future.” Lemay laughed.

 

“I wish it could work.” D’Artagnan replied sadly.

 

“Present time, d’Artagnan, present time. It’s the only important thing. Now, let’s wake our patient.” 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

Lemay turned to Athos to wake him in order to give him the “coffee”. D’Artagnan had moved back to the chair next to Athos’ head after he had helped to prepare the antidote and now he was looking at his sick mentor. Athos’ face was still covered in sweat, but his forehead didn’t feel as warm as before, his breathing had settled down and his fast heartbeat too. As he watched the steady rise and fall of Athos’ chest he had the feeling that his big brother would fight this poison. Earlier he had not been that sure, but now he was convinced of it.

 

“I am going to wake him up now, he  will still be very tired so I will need your help.”

 

“What can I do doctor?”

 

“Talk to him, while I try to wake him up.”

 

         Lemay bent down over Athos’ face and talked to him while he slightly shook his shoulder. 

 

“Time to wake up Athos!”

 

         As he had expected the Lieutenant was deeply asleep.

 

“Is it really necessary to wake him up now? Can’t we wait a little longer?” D’Artagnan asked protectively. “I mean, it is the first time  he’s slept without having a nightmare.” 

 

“I know, that my behaviour seems cruel to you  d’Artagnan but right now, the laudanum is working. It is a strong pain killer. So when Athos drinks this coffee potion it won’t hurt him as much as it has done before, but if we wait for the effect of the laudanum to fade again I fear that we won’t be able to make him drink the antidote. He will be sick, as he was before.”

 

         D’Artagnan understood. Softly, he bent over Athos’ right ear and spoke quietly to him. Lemay didn’t understand what the young man was saying, but Athos seemed to listen to him, because he could see the first signs of waking. His patient moved the fingers of his right hand, he breathed stronger and he struggled to open his unfocused eyes.

 

“Athos!” He bent down again over the sick Musketeer. “We have the antidote ready. It is as hot as tea and you need to drink it. Not much, only a small cup. Do you think you can do this?”

 

         Groggy, Athos answered:  

“I’ll give it a try.” 

 

         He realised that he could speak more easily and tried to open his eyes a little wider, only to close them frustratedly as he noticed that his vision was still blurred. A knock at the door and he could hear Porthos and Aramis entering his room. They waited in the distance. Athos who was happy to have all his friends around him said in a weak voice:

 

“Please, come in !” Again he was astonished that he could speak more clearly.

 

“Gentlemen, I am ready to give your friend the antidote, but we need Athos in an upright position.”

 

         D’Artagnan already wanted to help, as Porthos approached, squeezed his shoulder and positioned himself next to Athos’ head. He bent down over Athos’ face, smiled his big smile and then whispered in his ear.

 

“Time to recover! And no, you won’t die!”

 

         He then lifted the weak upper body of his friend into  an upright position. Lemay wanted to place the cup in Athos’ hands, but they started to tremble. Aramis laid his hands on Athos’ and asked:

 

“Shall I help you?”

 

“Yes please!” 

 

“Alright, drink it slowly. It is very hot, so wait a bit after each sip.”

 

         Athos listened to Aramis and then he started to drink the beverage that should make him better. It smelled bitter, but every medicine is bitter, he thought. After five sips he turned his head away.

 

“It’s enough!” Lemay stated firmly, as Aramis tried to convince Athos to drink more.

 

“Now, try and sleep a little longer, your body needs to rest. We will give you the next dose tomorrow morning.”

 

         Athos looked in the direction of Lemay and said:

 

“Thank you doctor.”

 

         He recognised how Porthos helped him to lie flat before he fell asleep again. His heartbeat slowed a little more and his breathing evened too. Another peaceful sleep had befallen his weak body.  D’Artagnan stayed next to his mentor while Aramis and Porthos spoke silently to the Doctor.

 

“I will stay a little longer to see if his body shows any reaction to the coffee.” 

 

         They thanked him, quietly said goodnight to d'Artagnan who volunteered to stay the night at Athos’ side and let their bedridden friend sleep. Lemay stayed a little longer checking from time to time the pulse, heartbeat and breathing of his patient. Satisfied that they had slowly turned back to normal he packed his equipment and said to d’Artagnan that he would return in the early morning. Then he left the garrison.

 

_ To be continued... _


	17. Stay with me, please.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter but we will try to post the next one tomorrow evening.
> 
> ♥♥♥

 

⚔⚔

  


        The room was silent. A deafening silence for d’Artagnan who stood alone, a hand clinging to the edge of the dressing table where a candle had been lit. Its flame was sooty, the wax had melted and was now leaking steadily onto the dusty wood. He stayed like that for a while, until he could see the flame even after closing his eyes, a persistent picture of the light printed on the inside of his eyelids. Not sure of what to do, he sucked in a deep breath and turned his gaze towards Athos. His own breath tried to match the rise and fall of the man’s chest. It hurt. Even if it had slowed down, it was still too fast, and it hurt the young man as he tried to feel what his mentor was now experiencing.

        He approached the bed and first sat down on the chair the others had left there, but he soon felt restless, not knowing what to do with his long arms and legs. He thought of laying pillows and blankets on the floor to build himself a comfortable nest, but he feared he would fall asleep and miss a sign of distress or a call from his friend. Finally, he chose the stool Porthos had used earlier to rest his wounded leg. Carefully, he took the chair away. The floor creaked and he flinched but Athos barely moved an eyelid. Relieved, he decided to remove his boots and he came back to the bed in his stocking feet lowering himself on the low stool. He didn’t dare lean on the bed, he didn’t dare touch the sick man, he even barely dared to breathe. His eyelids felt heavy. He had wanted to put on a brave face in front of the older men, but now, alone in this room, lulled by his mentor’s breath, by the soft orange flickering light of the dying candle, he felt his physical and moral strength decrease. Athos was peacefully sleeping on his right side. The young man crossed his hands on the edge of the mattress and put his chin on them leveling his eyes with Athos’. A few inches away from the quiet face, he could feel the heat radiating from the still too feverish body. He sighed and tried to stay awake. Outside, the wind was quickly becoming stronger.

 

 _No, please, no more rain. I hate rain. I hate storms and thunder._

 

        This weather brought back bad memories and d’Artagnan tried to shake them off, squeezing his eyes shut until it hurt. A soft moan brought him out of his anxious meditation. He opened his eyes and looked at Athos.The man’s eyelids fluttered, his mouth trembled and he rolled onto his back but didn’t wake up. A cough, then nothing, his breathing becoming even again. D’Artagnan stretched his long limbs and resumed his watch in the same hunched posture. He was now fully awake, aware of all the small noises in the room, from the cracking sounds of the wood to the whistling of the wind through the shutters. Minutes passed and again, Athos moaned. He opened his mouth and tried to say something but he winced, obviously in pain. He began to move again, crumpling the sheets in his fists, tossing his head from side to side and nervously scratching at his chest. This time, d’Artagnan reached a hand trying to loosen the grip on the white fabric, and to stop the frantic moves on the chest. The contact seemed to calm the distressed man.  

 

“Shhh, it’s alright, I am here, I am here.” He whispered in the man’s ear. “Don’t do that, you will hurt yourself”.

 

        Suddenly, the hushed low voice seemed to work as Athos sighed loudly and his body  relaxed slightly. Then he whispered something, but d’Artagnan didn’t understand at once. Then the same word was murmured.

 

“Thomas ...”

 

        D’Artagnan felt his throat tighten and tears threaten to force his eyelids. He breathed deeply, feeling so helpless. Athos had rolled onto his side again, facing him.

 

“Thomas …”

 

        D’Artagnan suddenly remembered something, a memory going back to his early childhood. Now he had an idea of what to do. He knelt on the floor, took a shivering hand in his and began to whisper soft words, his lips against Athos’ ear:

 

_“Quing plasé n’es pas ét aquô?[ *****](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/25587999#chapter_17_endnotes)  
_

_Quing plasé toque les au cô?”_

 

        He rubbed his thumb on the warm knuckles.

 

“Sleep my friend. Sleep. I am here, it’s me. I am not leaving your side.”

 

        He raised his head to look at his friend. His eyes were open but unfocused. He smiled not knowing if it would be seen but hoping that it would be at least … _felt_ by the other man. And he continued this poem his mother used to read him when he was sick.

 

_“Qu’esta tant que la bize hisse_

_Sarrak en üe boune perisse?”_

 

“Again, please.” Athos croaked closing his eyes again and turning his hand to seize d’Artagnan’s fingers in a surprisingly tight grip. So d’Artagnan recited again, voice low, soft, soothing.

 

_“Quing plasé n’es pas ét aquô?_

_Quing plasé toque les au cô?_

_Qu’esta tant que la bize hisse_

_Sarrak en üe boune perisse?”*_

 

        Then, he saw them, and it frightened him. Big silent tears were washing over his friend’s face, and suddenly, as if he wanted to hide his grief, Athos rolled onto his other side, turning his back to the young man.

 

“Stay with … me … please … I am … I … feel … so … alone …” Athos whispered.

 

“You are awake?” D’Artagnan murmured.

 

“Mmmhh … yes. Please … don’t go … Where are you? I am cold … I … my face is burning but I am cold … please ...”

 

        D’Artagnan waited a few seconds and then, gingerly, he stood up and climbed onto the narrow mattress behind the shivering man. He hesitated, then, he softly laid his right hand flat on the shuddering back, careful to let enough space between them, because even if the man felt cold, his fever was still high and he didn’t need a human blanket in this state. But, at least, that way, he could feel his breathing and pulse. No matter who would find them in the morning, no matter what they would think and say, no matter what he would think himself later. For now, the only important thing was the welfare of his big brother.

 

“Sleep, I am here. You are not alone.”

 

        And he closed his eyes to the soft breathing of Athos.   

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

 

        In the early hours of dawn, Tréville got up after a much too short night. He had lain long awake, turning over and over in his bed and thinking about what Aramis and Porthos had told him that evening. He didn’t want to disturb his men while they were looking after Athos. They were all too emotionally involved. So he had decided to give them time and space, but the concern about Athos had woken him up early.

        The courtyard was still very quiet and the weak light coming from the misty sky was barely bright enough to discern the shapes of the benches, tables, stairs and pillars. Tréville hurried to Athos’ room. He stopped at the door and hesitated before turning the knob. He was anxious to see what he would find behind it, and what he found just made his heart swell with pride and affection. His best soldier and his youngest were sleeping on their side, facing each other, forehead against forehead, the latter had most of his body over the edge of the mattress obviously not wanting to invade the other’s personal space but their hands were linked together between their chests. Tréville slowly and silently approached the table and lit a candle. Then he came to the bed, carefully covered the two sleeping soldiers with blankets and sat down on the stool. He felt his knees creaking, reminding him that he wasn’t  a young man anymore. He silently watched the peaceful faces. In spite of the suffering and the tiredness, they looked so young, unaware of the world outside. He had to wake the young man up, but he was reluctant, so he waited. At last, the young Gascon stirred and realising that someone was there, he opened his eyes and his head snapped up.

 

“Captain, I … I am sorry …” He stammered sluggishly, looking at his Captain with bleary wide eyes.

 

        He tried to let go of Athos’ hand and to get up, but Tréville laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

 

“Shh …, it’s fine. Stay. You are good for him … How was the night?”

 

        So, still holding his big brother’s hand and absent-mindedly rubbing the fingers in his, the young man made his report to his Captain.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Tuesday, 3rd of June_ **

 

        Now Tréville, sitting next to Athos’ bed, waited for his Lieutenant to wake up. D’Artagnan had told him that it had been a much too restless sleep for his officer. The lad had wanted to stay, but the Captain had ordered him to get at least three hours of sleep and drop morning muster, sooner rather than later they both would be needed back at the palace. His eyes wandered back to the sweating face of his Lieutenant. The breathing seemed to become agitated again, a knock at the door and Lemay quietly entered the room.

 

“How is our patient this morning?” He asked the Captain of the Musketeers, well aware that not every commanding officer would watch over a hurt or sick soldier.

 

“I don’t know, he has not woken yet. D’Artagnan told me that he had a restless night, moaning in his sleep and I think his breathing difficulties have returned.”

 

“Let me check on him!” Lemay started his examination.

 

_What is it, something cold is touching my chest? Where am I? Why is everything so dark around me. My skin is itching. God that hurts. It’s getting warmer again. Why am I so warm?_

 

        Lemay listened to Athos’ heartbeat, checked his breathing and lifted his shirt in order to see if the red rash had changed.

 

“Alright, our patient still has a fast pulse, but I think the coffee helped his heart. The beating is much slower but you are right about his breathing and it worries me.     

 

_My throat ... arghh … the pain … the pain is back. Why can’t it vanish … why can’t it stop …? Please … make it stop. I can’t … Can’t … It hurts soooo muchhhhh to br … Argh … Mmmhhh …_

 

        I think his throat is hurting him again, that’s why his breathing is uneven. I will wake him up and give him another very small dose of laudanum, then we will wait again for one hour and give him the next dose of coffee.”

 

        Tréville nodded, this  time Lemay woke Athos, more careful not to touch the red rash on his chest.

 

_Why is all so dark around me? I can’t see … I … is this Tréville? Who else is there? I hear voices? I … I feel dizzy, my head … My eyes … Everything is blurred … the light … it hurts … I need dark … darkness … What is it, something is pressing in my stomach. Please make it stop … No, not again … Why … I need …_

 

        It was still difficult for Athos to open his eyes and it took him several minutes to wake up. His body felt weak and he sensed a tense feeling in his bladder.

 

“How are you this morning?” Lemay asked softly.

 

        Athos thought about this question.

 

“Throat … hurtsss and I need …” Exhausted, he stopped.

 

“You need to use the chamber-pot?” Lemay helped.

 

        Athos nodded sluggishly. Together with Tréville, they helped the bedridden soldier to relieve himself.

 

_God this hurts …. I want to …. Why can’t …._

_Everything is so blurred around me …_

_I can’t … I … I need to lie down …_

_Why can’t I …_

_Mmnnhh …_

 

        Athos moaned because his lower abdomen hurt and he had difficulties until the water finally left his bladder. His blood circulation played tricks on him and if it hadn’t been for the tight grip of Tréville around his waist, he would have ended in an unworthy heap on the floor. Tréville tried to calm Athos with encouraging words, recognising that his Lieutenant was becoming more and more agitated.

 

_Fresh air … why is it so hard to breathe … I … I … need …_

_I_ _can’t tell them. They have to help … I need ..._

_I need to stop panicking …_

_I_ _nnnn and ooooout … Innnnn and oooooouuutt … Innnnn … aaaaannn_

 

        Back in his bed, he let them put several pillows at his back, because the breathing difficulties had reappeared at an alarming speed, Athos barely spoke and his speech was more and more slurred. After another breathing exercise, Lemay bent down over his face again.

 

“Open your mouth please, Athos. I will give you another dose of laudanum.”

 

        Athos followed the orders of the doctor. After Lemay helped him again to swallow the bitter fluid, Athos felt the urgent need to sleep.

 

_What is this in my mouth? It tastes bitter ..._

_What is the doctor doing with his hands at my throat?_

_I need to swallow, God, it hurtsssss …._

_I want to sleep … I am sooo tired …. I can’t stay awake … I …_

 

        He sank back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. Soon Lemay and Tréville could hear that his breathing had settled again. The laudanum did its work. Satisfied the doctor started to prepare the coffee, while talking quietly with Tréville about the trade summit. An hour later, Aramis entered the room and they woke Athos for a second time. Aramis helped him drink the coffee again, while Tréville excused himself in order to begin his day with the morning muster.

 

_To be continued ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem by Bartas (Gascon poet) - 16th century)
> 
> “Quing plasé n’es pas ét aquô?  
> Quing plasé toque les au cô?  
> Qu’esta tant que la bize hisse  
> Sarrak en üe boune perisse?”*
> 
> Quel plaisir!  
> Quel plaisir touche plus le coeur?  
> Que rester là tandis que souffle la bise du Nord.  
> Enveloppé dans une bonne pelisse.
> 
> What a pleasure it is!  
> What pleasure touches more the heart?  
> Than staying here while the North wind bites.  
> Wrapped in a good pelisse.


	18. I am scared

⚔⚔

 

**_Tuesday morning, refectory_ **

 

        Porthos yawned loudly. 

 

_ This night was much too short!  _

He was sitting with Aramis and D’Artagnan in the refectory of the garrison. He was hungry and considered that he could eat some more bread and fruits. D’Artagnan had already finished his breakfast and Aramis didn’t eat anything. A worried Porthos looked at his friend.

 

“You know, you can’t help Athos at all if you are starving to death, eh?” 

        Aramis looked at him with a bored expression. 

 

“I know what you are trying to do, but I am not hungry.” Aramis said tiredly.

 

“How is he?” Porthos finally asked the question he had wanted to ask since they had met a sleepy d’Artagnan in the courtyard.

        D’Artagnan looked at them. 

 

“He didn’t have a good night he was very restless and had another bad dream. 

 

“Lemay gave him more laudanum and he hopes that the second dose of coffee will help him to get better. He wants us to bath him again later and one of us has to sit with him all the time. His breathing was uneven through the night and it settled a little this morning. He asked us to speak with him, so that we can monitor his breathing better, and I think this is what we are going to do today.” Aramis added.

 

“Oh dear, bathing. He will hate us. He will hate that he is still not better, and that we have to help him.” Porthos rolled his eyes.

 

“We will have to tell him that it is very normal” Aramis sighed, knowing very well that Athos would need a lot of support and encouragement to go through the whole procedure.

 

“Just tell him that he would do the very same for us! Alas, I won’t be able to help you this morning. I have to go back to the palace with the Captain, but in the meantime can you please enlighten me about what you have found out?” D’Artagnan looked at them questioningly.

 

        Porthos and Aramis gave the young Gascon a brief summary about their researches. Porthos ended it with:

 

“So we have Milady or the Duke of Savoy as possible suspects, but don’t let Tréville know that I have told you about the latter?”

 

        D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because, he thinks that we could provoke a war with Spain if we accuse the Duke of such a deed. Remember, we must always think of the greater good of France!” Aramis added sarcastically to hide his own anger and the pain the Duke had caused.

 

“So only two suspects?” D’Artagnan asked.

 

“Well that depends!” Porthos said.

 

“Depends on what? D’Artagnan asked curiously.

 

“Did you notice Athos being more suspicious lately? Maybe he told you that he believed he was being followed?” Porthos asked him.

 

“Or did he mention to you that someone threatened him, besides Milady?” Aramis continued.

 

        D’Artagnan looked at his two friends. 

 

“You mean you think Athos would have told me something that he wouldn’t have told you?” 

 

“You know Athos! Sometimes he can be very private and he doesn’t share his feelings and thoughts with everyone, even with us. But he talks to you.” Porthos explained.

 

        D’Artagnan blushed slightly and a smile crept over his lips.     

 

“Let me think, I don’t recall Athos telling me that someone threatened him or that he had the feeling of being followed but if I think about it longer, I have the dumb feeling that he has been brooding over something since he fought this soldier from Ireland last year but I am not sure why and he didn’t say anything about it. Maybe he is worried that such soldiers can be hired again to harm the Queen. He has stayed around the palace much longer lately, I think he still feels ashamed that all of us weren’t able to protect the Queen better at those holy waters.” D’Artagnan looked at his friends.

 

        Aramis ran a hand through his thick curls and sniffled nervously, his friends didn’t notice his behaviour. 

 

“You do know what I mean? Athos sometimes needs more time than others would to forgive himself.”

 

        Aramis tried to avoid direct eye contact with their youngest team member, he groaned inwardly. The young Gascon was about to discover the secret that Athos and he tried to hide. Athos was right, staying longer and longer at the palace would, sooner or later, bring immediate danger to his loved ones. 

 

_ I am sorry my friend, that you have to keep this huge secret for yourself and that I am such a burden to you. You neglect your own duty or you work only to be sure that I am safe. You shouldn’t Athos. You …  _

 

        Aramis’ thoughts were interrupted by Porthos.

 

“Yeah, I agree with you, d’Artagnan, there is something he’s not telling us. Can you think of anything else?” 

 

“Maybe a friend of this Irish soldier … What was his name? … Gallagher. I think his name was Gallagher … He wants to avenge him. He found out that Athos was the one who killed him.” D’Artagnan thought out loud. “But if you want to know if Athos said anything, I am afraid he didn’t. Nevertheless he has been under a lot of stress and pressure lately. I have the feeling that the return of Rochefort has brought back old, bad memories and Rochefort trying to earn more power at the palace worries him. Besides, he cares for the well-being of our Captain and seeing that the King is treating Tréville more and more as an enemy instead of a friend, pains him too. He values our Captain a lot and he doesn’t like to see him being hurt. So, maybe the return of Rochefort made him lack concentration so that he did not realise the danger he was in and didn’t notice that he was being followed or the target of someone we don’t know yet.”              

        Porthos and Aramis nodded quietly. They too had recognised that the return of Rochefort had made their leader confront his past and they knew that the Comte had been the reason why Athos had to endure or suffer greatly during his first year as a Musketeer.

 

        D’Artagnan stood up.

 

“Anyway I have to go. If I see Milady at the palace I will start my inquiry. I don’t know when I will be back, but make sure that Athos recovers soon.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

**_In the meantime at the palace_ **

        King Louis looked at the Captain of the Musketeers who was standing next to him. The man looked tired.

 

“Tell me Tréville. How is our dear Musketeer Athos?” 

 

        Tréville had decided not to tell the King that his Lieutenant had been poisoned. Louis would be afraid that someone would poison him too. The last time he had seen Athos this morning he seemed to sleep so peacefully that by now he was convinced that Athos’ body had won the fight against the poison. 

 

“He is on the mend, your Majesty. Doctor Lemay is a true specialist. He helped with a new medicine, I think its name is coffee if I recall it correctly.”

 

“Oh, that’s fantastic news, Captain!” King Louis clapped in his hands.

 

“Yesterday I ordered several sacks of coffee beans. I am glad that they are worth the high prize I had to pay for it.” King Louis said, his teeth shimmering in his face.

 

“So we can assume that Athos will help us during the trade summit?” Rochefort asked curious in Tréville’s direction.

 

_ Not again. I knew it. The next thing he will propose to the King is that Athos should stand personal guard on Friday, d’Artagnan where are you? My headache is coming back. _

 

“Give him a break Rochefort, I wouldn’t ask you to be here after being so severely ill. The flu can be deadly. At least my wife told me that, the other day. Two of her court-ladies have fallen ill as well. And she is really worried about them. She has told me that they still need a lot of rest even after the body has beaten the flu. I listen to her advice and it’s very good. Your Lieutenant needs rest, Captain. That’s an order!” Louis looked straight into Tréville’s eyes.

 

_ Besides I think my Captain would look less worried, if Athos still could rest a little longer.  _ Thought the King.              

 

        Now and then King Louis could surprise Tréville and he was glad that this was one of the rare moments he did.

 

“Now, come on, Gentlemen, we need to discuss some more details about what we need. There is an interesting man from Ireland here. He arrived two weeks ago and he’s offered me some new plants which we can use for medical supplies. It is very interesting to talk with him and for the battlefield I guess we can use those new medicines.” Louis explained to both Captains while returning with them to his quarters.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

        Athos’ room was still dark with only a few sunrays entering through the small window. The Musketeer was lying in his bed, half awake, too agitated to sleep. From time to time he opened his eyes, only to close them again, too frustrated that his vision was still blurred. After Athos had been given another dose of laudanum and an hour later a few spoonfuls of coffee, he felt better. He could swallow with less pain, the dry throat was still there but his breathing troubles seemed to have vanished. He was exhausted and agitated at the same time, somehow the medicine made him restless. Porthos and Aramis who had now taken over his care, used the time to give him more to drink and they even tried a bowl of hot broth. They encouraged him to drink more, even with less pain, he was still very weak and he needed nutrition to become stronger again. Aramis had sat next to Athos. With his  _ main-gauche _ he cut an apple into small pieces, he gave them to him. “It’s good for your heart!” He said. So Athos listened to him and ate them one by one.  As the doctor had advised, they tried to talk with Athos. Telling him the newest gossip of the palace and what their fellow Musketeers had achieved during the last days. Soon Athos was exhausted again and they decided to let him sleep. They relaxed as they noticed that his breathing was normal again and his heartbeat became more steady, but all these signs of improvement changed suddenly around noon. Athos’ sleep became more restless, his fever spiked and he threw himself from one side to the other of his bed. He curled himself into a foetal position, as the intense pain hit his body again.

        Athos felt his heart beating fiercely in his chest. He tried to ease the pain, by opening his mouth and coughing, but it didn’t work. He tried to calm down, by doing the breathing exercises, but he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. He felt hot and cold at the same time, he was dizzy, sweat was plastering his thick hair that fell onto his forehead, he wished it would stop, but it didn’t. The palpitations grew stronger and stronger and the itching pain in his chest wouldn’t go away. 

 

“Mhhhh …” He groaned aloud.

 

        At this sound of distress, Porthos and Aramis who had sat quietly at the table stood up abruptly. Aramis knelt beside the bed and took Athos’ hand in his. 

 

“Mmmhhhhh!” another loud moan escaped Athos’ mouth as he tried to ease the pain and slow his galloping heartbeat.

 

“What’s the matter, Athos?” He whispered.

 

“Make … it … stop … . plea …?” He closed his eyes and he panted for air.

 

        Porthos slipped quickly behind him to lift his upper body.

 

“Aramis, he’s not getting enough air!” He swore “I promised you, you will survive this. So stay with me Athos. Do you hear me? You have done this before! Breathe. Breathe with me!”

 

        Athos felt strong arms lifting him. He could feel a warm chest at his back, he could feel a steady heartbeat, so lulling and quiet. He pressed his head against Porthos’ chest and turned it slightly trying to look at his human pillow and suddenly he opened his mouth, desperate for air. Aramis tried to soothe him cradling his head in his hands.

 

“Look at me, Athos! Look at me! Open your eyes!”

 

        Athos felt the tickling of the black curls on his face and managed to open his feverish shining green eyes. Aramis let go of his right cheek and laid his hand on Athos’ chest right over his heart. He could feel Athos’ heart palpitating much too fast. He looked at Porthos and with his eyes he told him to speak to their patient. 

 

“Athos, come on, breathe with me.  _ In and out _ …  _ in and out _ .” 

 

        The sick man fastened his grip on Aramis’ hand and followed the instructions of Porthos. More weakly than the times before, he sucked air into his lungs and felt his throat burn as he breathed out. He felt horrible. The only reason why he continued was because of  his two friends talking and comforting him during his whole ordeal.

 

“That’s it!” Aramis coaxed him and he gave Porthos a sign to roll their brother onto his side. 

 

        In this new position, still secured by Pothos’ arms, he started to inhale more air.

 

“I don’t like that.” Porthos whispered. The sweaty temple against his cheek was burning with fever. “My God Aramis, he is burning. I think his fever has risen again …”

 

        Aramis laid his cool hand on Athos’ forehead. 

 

“You are right. We need to do something. I could give him another cup of willow tea, but I fear that he won’t keep it down.” Aramis murmured.

 

“Bath?” Asked Porthos not sure that it was a good idea.

 

“It’s our last solution. His heart won’t bear this fever and I don’t want to…” 

 

        Aramis stopped, swallowed hard and looked at the ceiling, jaws clenched as he tried to rein in his emotions.

 

“To see him convulse again?” Porthos finished. “I know. I’ll stay with him, you go and prepare the bathroom. Make sure no one else comes and bothers us.”

 

        As Aramis stayed frozen, Porthos, laying a hand on his knee, urged:

 

“Go, Aramis. Trust me. I won’t let him go for a walk on his own.” 

 

        He circled Athos’ waist with his two arms and laid his cheek against the sick man’s temple again. 

 

“Hang in there!” Aramis bent over Athos’ right ear, squeezed his hand and hurried away.

 

        Athos could hear the mumbling of his friends but he didn’t understand what they were saying. His mind was too confused. He felt Aramis leaving and at the same time, he felt Porthos holding him even tighter. Tears were running down his face, he couldn’t stop them, but his heartbeat had slowed down again and through this new position he was able to take in more air. 

 

“Where … go ...?”

 

“Shhh, Athos. Try to save your breath. Aramis is going to prepare everything for your bath. He will be back in no time so try to rest a bit. Close your eyes and breathe with me. Yes … that’s it.”

 

        Athos’ body sank deeper into Porthos’ embrace as he felt sleepy again. Porthos’ strength comforted him. He wanted to sleep, but he suddenly became agitated again. Restless, he felt his whole body threatening to convulse again.

“Nooo …” He slurred.

 

“Shh ... You will be fine.”

 

        Porthos’ right hand covered his forearm and he slowly ran it up the whole arm in a comforting almost caressing gesture.

 

“Port … s, if I …”

 

“Shh … don’t speak …”

 

“Let me … if I die …”

 

Porthos froze. He stopped his move and tightened his embrace.

 

“You … won’t … die! Do you hear me? You will live! D’Artagnan needs you, Aramis needs you, Tréville is counting on you and I, my dear friend,  will not let you go. I need you too. Right now even more than you know!”

 

“I am ... sca … scared. I don't want … to die … before I know … who … and …”

 

        Athos shivered a little more, another fit hit his body, but the convulsions didn’t start. The cramp left him again, he turned slightly again to try to see Porthos’ face who had resumed his soft caresses.

 

“And why the person did it. I understand. We will know who and why, because you will be soon fine enough to help us find this devilish creature, but if you want to be fine, stop talking rubbish, rest and wait for Aramis.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

        D’Artagnan was late. After breakfast he had saddled his horse and had ridden to the palace. Now he was looking for Tréville. 

 

_ It’s either palace or gardens. _

 

        D’Artagnan decided to look in the King’s rooms in the palace first. On his way he spotted Constance who was carrying some new fresh white linen.

 

“I am sorry that I couldn’t help during the last few days but Marguerite has the flu too. The Queen asked me to help her with the Dauphin and Dr. Lemay asked me to help Marguerite and another court lady to get better.” Constance excused herself. 

 

“I am sure both women were in the best of hands under your care. Are they better yet?” D’Artagnan asked tiredly. 

 

“Marguerite is on her way to recovery, but the other woman is still very sick, she has such a high fever, as you told me Athos has, and we are not sure if she will survive.”

 

“I am sorry to hear that. Do you know her well?” D’Artagnan asked. 

 

“No. She is one of the Queen’s Spanish ladies-in-waiting and she is very close to her, but she is a noble woman and I am not.” She explained. “I really have to go and look after her but first tell me. How is Athos?” 

 

“Still not good.” D’Artagnan sighed, and Constance could see the worry and tiredness in his eyes.

 

“He had a very bad night, his fever is still high and I …” He stalled.

 

“He is strong d’Artagnan, he will fight this, don’t worry. And …  he has you!”

 

        Constance gave him a supporting smile.

 

“I am trying to tell myself this too!” D’Artagnan sighed.

 

“Tell him that I pray for him!” Constance shortly pressed d’Artagnan’s hand. “I really need to go!”

 

        D’Artagnan looked in several more rooms before he realised that the King must be in his gardens. From the distance, Milady could hear both of them talking. 

 

_ So Athos is not better yet? But he is still alive.  _ She mused.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

  
  


        Doctor Lemay had hoped that the fever would have broken by now, that the body of his patient would have recovered, but the worst of his fears had turned out to be true. Again  he checked for a pulse and a heartbeat but he couldn’t find any. The still feverish face started to cave, bluish lips, pale and cold skin, were the evident signs that the body wasn’t receiving enough oxygen. He took a small mirror and positioned it at the mouth of his patient waiting for a sign of breathing but nothing, no condensation on the icy surface. The body of his patient laid now unresponsive in the white linens and the dark blue blanket covering it. 

 

_ Too young! Too soon!  _ He  thought bitterly. 

 

        Around him, friends of the patient had gathered and in the background he could hear sobbing and crying. He checked a last time the wide open bluish shimmering eyes darkened by enlarged pupils and then with a deep sigh he closed them softly.


	19. Flower power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After such a cliffhanger we had to post a new chapter quickly!
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ♥♥♥

 

⚔⚔

 

        Constance stepped next to him and softly laid a hand on his shoulder.The young woman, a court lady, had died several minutes ago, struggling to breathe, trying to speak a last time but not able to express herself. Her heart was beating much too quickly and suddenly stopped. He could do no more

 

“Doctor!” She called softly. “We have to inform her family!”

 

“Yes, we must! And we need to make sure we remove her body as soon as possible, it could infect other people.”

        He turned away. He had had another patient in a similar condition, but had she been poisoned as well or was it the flu? In the end it was not “the poison” or “the flu” but the very high fever, the weakened heart and the lack of oxygen that had caused the death. He wished he could find a way to keep his patients in a long sleep and to somehow give them oxygen through a tube, but he had no idea how. Giving a few last orders to some servants of how to take care of the corpse and what they had to clean, he gave one last glance to the dead woman and frustratedly, he grabbed his medical bag and went to the door. At least he was glad that his other patient at the palace, Lady Marguerite, was on the mend. She had cared for the sick Dauphin and had caught the flu this way. He only hoped that no more courtiers or the Queen would get the disease.

        On his way out he thought again of Athos. Would the coffee work? Would the heart of the soldier be strong enough to survive this horrible poison? He wasn’t sure about it. He tried to get rid of his dark thoughts. Looking back he watched Constance comforting another young woman.

 

_Such a shame that she is married. She is not only intelligent but very beautiful. Even in such a situation of distress and sadness she can light a room with warmth and compassion._

 

        Holding onto this positive thought he finally left his dead patient’s room.  

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

        Aramis had quickly finished the preparations. On his way out he took the stretcher they had used the first time and hurried back over the courtyard, down the few steps to Athos’ quarters. He slowed down in front of his door, tried to catch his breath, to calm down a little and sent a fast prayer towards God touching the small golden cross the Queen had given him and pressed a kiss on it.

 

_Please let him survive this bath. Let him survive this._

 

        Then with a reassuring smile, he entered Athos’ room and laying the stretcher down next to his bed, he bent down over his friend’s weak and hurt body.

 

“Ready for your second bath? Now, we will take you to the bathing room.”

 

“Hmm …” Athos managed, glad to hear Aramis at his side again too.

 

        Aramis gestured to Porthos to help him to put Athos onto the stretcher. Porthos spoke softly in Athos’ ear in order to not startle him.

 

“We will lift you now out of the bed onto the stretcher.”

 

        Athos could feel the blanket being taken away from him. The coolness around him hit him by surprise. Then he felt two strong hands at his legs.

 

“Now, Porthos!”

 

        Together the Musketeers lifted the much too weak body of their brother onto the stretcher and afterwards two hands pulled his precious blue blanket firmly over his slightly shaking body.

 

“Wha …?” Athos was confused as he was lying on the floor of his room.

 

“Sorry, Athos. This new mattress isn’t soft enough for your noble body, but don’t worry, we are on our way now.” Aramis smiled.

 

        And so the second trip to the bathroom began. Unlike the last time Athos was wide awake, sensing the cold air on his skin as they carried him over the courtyard and feeling every move of the stretcher. Scared, he wanted to escape and he started to become agitated. Moving and rolling uncontrollably from one side to the other on the narrow sheet.  

 

“Stop Athos!” Porthos tried to calm him but the confused man didn’t recognise his brother’s voice. Instead, he got even more agitated and tried to raise himself up, but he failed and fell limply back onto the linen of the stretcher.

 

“Wait!” Aramis said. “We can’t move on like that. He will fall from the stretcher. He has no idea what is happening right now. He is too confused and can’t see properly.”

 

        So they put the stretcher down. Without any further explanation, Porthos bent down with a grimace as his thigh throbbed and he picked up his sick friend. He took him in his arms like a bride.

 

 _No need to tell him later,_ Porthos thought.

 

        They carried him the last steps to the bathroom. Athos’ head rested on Porthos chest, gently lolling, and he tried to think what was going on.

 

_Where am I? Why is it so cold? I am moving, without walking … ?_

 

        Aramis hurried in front of him, opening the doors. Entering the bathroom nearly made Athos suffocate, the thick wet air was suddenly too heavy for his weak lungs. Slowly, he tried to breathe deeply and his mind registered the new smells. Soap, lavender, wet wood, smoke and something he didn’t recognise at once.

 

_Air … I need air … my throat hurts … everything is so dry …_

_What smell is that? Where am I? I need to breathe …_

_Someone is talking to me … I know this voice … Aramis ..._

 

“I’ve put mint leaves in your bath. It will ease your breathing.”

 

    Aramis folded a sheet into a makeshift pillow ready to be slipped under Athos’ head.

 

“Now, Athos, we will have to undress you. I know, you don’t like that, but you don’t want to have a bath all dressed?” Aramis told him with a soft smile.

 

_No, not again, not with the boy around … why do I have to endure this?_

 

“Where is …?” Athos whispered.

 

“Who? Where is who? Porthos is right here ... the stretcher … is Porthos.”

 

“No … I mean … d …”

 

“Oh!” Porthos laughed. “D’Artagnan? You need your new footman to undress you?”

 

“Nooo …,” Athos, moaned frustrated. “It’s not … I don’t want him … to …”

 

“Porthos, leave him alone, please.” Aramis chided. “He isn’t here, Athos, don’t worry. There are only the three of us. No other eyes on your white noble skin.”  

 

       Athos held a hand as if trying to smack Aramis’ head, but he was too weak and the hand fell. Aramis caught it and squeezed it a little, comforting him and conveying in the gesture all his understanding.

 

_I feel so hot, so dizzy … I am so weak … I can’t …_

_No, stop, not my clothes …_

 

       Porthos had started to untie the shirt and all the while chatting, they undressed Athos. They had sat him half on a stool, half in Porthos’ lap. Then, slowly, carefully, Porthos lowered his friend into the warm water. He felt him shivering as his burning skin met the slightly cooler water.

 

_What is happening … Porthos what are you doing …?_

_Stop lifting me … my body is trembling … the water …_

 

“Shh ..., it’s alright, I won’t drop you. You can still feel my hand on you. Can’t you?”

 

       Aramis reached a hand to support Athos’ head and guide it onto the folded sheet. The sigh escaping Athos’ lips made them look at him with a fond smile. They had feared his reaction to the water but the blissful expression on their friend’s face was a blessing. Porthos still had his right hand on Athos’ back and Aramis’ fingers gently scratched his scalp where the water met his tangled hair.

 

“Th … thank you … my friends … You can let me go … I won’t drown … in the …”

 

       Suddenly he stopped,  Porthos and Aramis froze, worried.

 

“What is it, Athos? Are you feeling bad?” Aramis asked.

 

       He was staring at the surface of his bath, eyes wide, lips slightly curled upward.

 

“You are smiling Athos?” Porthos asked. “Aramis, should we be worried?”

 

“I don’t think so. But tell us, Athos?”

 

“Is it really ... what I think ... it is?” Athos asked in his purest Comte’s voice.

 

“What?” Porthos asked anxiously. “Are you seeing things again?”

 

       But Athos’ smile was still there, brighter, and there was a glint in his eyes they hadn’t seen for days.

 

“You put thyme leaves in my bath and laurel leaves? Are you planning to … to … cook me?” Athos drawled.

 

       Porthos burst out with laughter and stopped abruptly as Athos flinched.

 

“Sorry, that was too noisy, sorry but it’s so good you know, it’s so good to see you awake, aware and … normal. My God! It’s so good.”

 

 _Don’t be so theatrical, Porthos, please._ Athos thought.

 

Tears of relief and joy made Porthos' eyes shine in the dancing flames of the hearth.

 

“Don’t … don’t ask … me to spar with … you … right now, but … you are right … I am better.”

 

       Aramis curled an arm around his shoulders with a suspicious sniffle.

 

“Let me see your skin, now. I want to check if the honey and calendula worked. And for your information, thyme and laurel leaves ease the breathing, Monsieur le Comte.”

 

       Aramis softly touched the dry, hot and still reddish area on Athos’ chest. It seemed less scarlet.

 

“By the way, what is calendula?” Porthos asked.

 

“[ ** _Souci_.**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/25667145#chapter_19_endnotes)” *****

 

“Don’t you think we have enough of that?”* Porthos asked. *

 

“Porthos, you big child. _La fleur de souci._ The yellow or orange flower. Latin name, calendula.” Aramis laughed. “Good news my friend, my mixture worked and …”

 

       Athos’ eyes were locked with his, a little more focused as the fever slowly decreased.

 

“I wondered if I could give you some honey to eat …” Aramis mused.

 

“To eat?” Athos asked quietly, quirking an eyebrow.  

 

“Yes it’s good for your throat and it’s fortifying. As you can’t eat anything else, it will help your body to rebuild its strength.”

 

“Alright. I don’t like it very much …”

 

“ _Bourgogne*_ and _chinon*_ are not on the menu for now, Monsieur le Comte, our inn only offers honey.”

 

“Aramis, don’t call me …”

 

“Alright … Monsieur le Comte.”

 

       The light banter between the three of them made Athos forget that he was naked, helpless, hurt and sick, in a bath where his two friends were tending over him as if he was a child. Aramis gently sponged his chest, removing the remnants of his salve. Porthos had picked up a cloth and carefully sponged his arms. Athos closed his eyes. For the first time in days he felt his heart slowing down. He felt calmer ... His breathing was deeper and slower and he felt he could sleep now … Tired, he closed his eyes, but Aramis and Porthos tried to keep him awake and focused.

 

“Now, Athos, are you ready to hear what your two best investigators have discovered?”  Aramis asked.

 

“And are you ready to help them in their inquiry?” Porthos completed.

 

       Athos sat up a little in the bathtub without help. It was a victory and he opened his eyes. Aramis noticed that the pupils were smaller in spite of the dim light. A good sign.   So, they told him slowly in a low voice, what had happened in the past few days, deliberately omitting Aramis’ break down in Saint-Joseph and carefully announcing the death of the nice seamstress. In spite of their cautious words, Athos squeezed his eyes shut when he heard that and, when he opened them again, his friends could see all the guilt they knew too well appearing in the blue-green troubled water of their friend’s eyes.

 

“It’s not your fault, Athos.” Aramis reassured him while checking the temperature of his forehead with the back of his hand.

 

“It is. But it’s too late, now … Everything is always too late with me.” Athos replied with great sorrow.  

 

“Athos. Our priority is to heal you and to catch that monster who did this to you. So we need your help not your self deprecation.” Porthos growled.

 

“Porthos!” Aramis snapped angrily.

 

“He is right, Aramis … Sorry … I will try to behave, now.” Athos told him with a smile both shy and mischievous, like a child seeking forgiveness.

 

“You did nothing wrong, my dear friend. Nothing. You are brave and I can tell you now that you are on your way to recovery and we are soon going to be on our way back to your room, because you don’t need to catch a cold. Moreover this smelly broth is becoming cold.” Aramis smiled. “We will continue this discussion in your apartments, Monsieur le …”

 

       A glare stopped him. The old Athos was back and it was so good!

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜   

 

**_Somewhere in the palace_ **

               

"I am looking forward to Friday, Christine!”

 

“What did you just say?” Christine-Marie, the sister of Louis was busy playing hide and seek with her son in the two vast rooms they had been given during their stay in _le Louvre_. The rooms were beautiful, with a reddish-brown floor and colourful painted ceilings.

 

“I mean it’s time to go back to Savoy. I can’t wait for the trade summit to come to an end.”

 

       He looked bored, as through the window, he could see Rochefort and Tréville next to King Louis discussing something.

 

“Why do you want to leave so soon?” Christine wondered. “I thought we could stay a little  longer. Wasn’t it your plan to meet with some other allies? Besides the Dauphin is such a sunshine and I’d like to spend more time with Anne and my brother. Anne could use my help now with her little baby boy, two of her court ladies are sick and she needs support. Can’t you find something else to do, like hunting or sword fighting?”

 

“Don’t remind me of that. Last time I was here I lost against a common Musketeer.” He snorted angrily.

 

“Poor man, he has fallen sick.” He added. “But maybe it serves him right.” Christine looked at her husband. She sensed he was in a bad mood.

 

“Maybe it is really the best that we leave on Saturday. I will convince my brother that we will achieve a good price for our valuable goods.”

 

       The Duke of Savoy tried to smile at his wife.

  


⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Garrison_ **

 

       Without asking, Porthos picked up his freshly dressed friend as he tried to walk out of the bathroom. Athos squeaked like a cat which was caught chasing a mouse.

 

“Let me go, Porthos, I can walk.” He hissed sending him the best glare he could in his state.

 

“No. You can’t.”

 

“I am not a damsel in distress.”

 

“You are my _friend in distress_. So be quiet and calm. Hey, you promised, remember?

 

       Aramis chuckled and trailed behind them carrying the soiled clothes and the precious dark blue blanket. Back in the room, Porthos laid a struggling Athos on the bed. At least, he tried, as Athos sat up at once.

 

“Woah! Don’t you think you had better lay down than sitting in this position?” Porthos tried to argue.

 

“I am fine.” Athos stated drily.

 

“Yes, you always are fine.” Aramis smiled bitterly. “Always fine, even when you see eight of us instead of two, when you can’t even drink water without crying or vomiting, when your fever is so high that you talk nonsense, when you …” Aramis’ voice was now broken with anxiety and a hint of anger.

 

“Stop it, Aramis.” Porthos interrupted. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you think it’s you who needs sleep and rest, as well? Can’t you see that Athos is better? It’s over! This damn poison is leaving his body. It’s over Aramis.” Now his voice was as shaky as Aramis’.  

 

“Please.” Athos’ soft voice stopped them. “Please, stop. I am sorry. It’s all my fault.”

 

“No, it isn’t.” Aramis and Porthos cried at the same time.

 

“Shall we talk, now?” Athos asked quietly.

 

“Are you sure you want to stay upright?” Aramis gingerly asked.

 

“I am. Sit with me, please.”

 

       So they did. The three of them sat facing the room. Porthos on his left, Aramis on his right. Their backs to the wall under the beautiful sword. And they talked quietly, slowly, they told him about the inquiry and they began to ask him questions.

 

“Now do you remember anything which could be useful?” Aramis asked. “Did you see, feel or hear anything that we should know about, anything that could help to improve our research?”

 

“I remember the pain when she fastened the scarf around my neck. I … I … didn’t understand … She was so close … and she … but I thought that she still had a pin or a needle in her hand, you know, seamstresses always have a needle or a pin in their mouth or stuck in their sleeves or dresses ... and she … she didn’t notice that she had hurt me … So I didn’t say … anything …”

 

“Anything else?” Porthos asked.

 

       Athos tried to concentrate. He frowned and added:

 

“I … this figure … The first day … I remember … a figure. But it’s nothing …” Athos began.

 

       Aramis laid a hand on his forehead. He could feel that the temperature had risen a little again, but not in an alarming way. Still he thought they would need to stop soon. Athos’ weak body needed rest.

 

“So … You saw a figure? And was it a _he_ or a _she_ , that figure?” Porthos asked.

 

“I … I don’t know … The figure was hurrying through the rain, clad in a black fabric, a hood over their head. But … but maybe … this figure … was just ... just in a hurry … because the weather was … wet and windy and … cold … and it was late ... Athos squeezed his eyes shut, he paused and added, much more weakly, than before:

 

“Aramis, ... my head ... hurts …”

 

       His voice was a little slurred again, and his head gently lolled. The medic reached his hand out and checked Athos’ temperature on the sweaty forehead. He could feel the hot skin. Athos tried to lean into the cool touch.

 

“Aramis, I have to leave now.” Porthos interrupted after seeing the exhaustion of his brother. As an explanation he added:  

 

“You know, Tréville asked me to join him at the palace. You know what? You should sleep too. You need it. Athos, do you agree to have that big cocker drooling on your pillow again?” Porthos smiled fondly.

 

“He is ... welcome.” Athos answered with a weak smile.

 

“Be careful, Porthos. Stay safe.” Aramis called.

 

“You too, both of you!” Porthos stood up, ruffled Athos’ hair and left.

 

       The room fell silent. Aramis stood up and gave Athos a mix of water, willow bark and rose honey. Athos managed to swallow the whole cup and then the medic sat down again next to him, shoulder against shoulder, supporting his friend like a human pillar.

 

“So, Aramis, what is it?” Athos whispered unexpectedly.

 

       He was tired, exhausted, he wanted to sleep, but his brother’s behaviour had amazed him.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Aramis.” Athos turned his head to try to catch his brother’s eyes.

 

       Aramis averted his eyes looking at the ceiling. He could feel Athos’ body trembling a little against his. The man was exhausted and needed to sleep but he knew that he wouldn’t do it before having his answers.

 

“I …” Aramis tried.

 

“You?”

 

“Well, I am worried.”

 

“Are you?” Athos tried to joke.

 

“Athos!” Aramis rolled his eyes smiling slightly. “There are several things. First you. You scared me. I … remember when … when … I thought I had lost you, all those years ago when this bastard had you in his trap and could have killed you … if … if …”

 

“But he didn’t, Aramis. You were there. Both you and Tréville. Just in time.”

 

“And again, you nearly died when you were accused again of another crime … and …”

 

“Again you were there … and d’Artagnan. You are always here for me.” Athos smiled nudging his friend’s shoulder with his in a reassuring gesture.

 

“But this illness … I really thought you would … you would ... d … leave us and I …” Aramis couldn’t finish, a lump swelling in his throat.

 

“... and you still think I could die …” Athos replied “... but I won’t die, I don’t want to die, not today ... I feel better, a lot better. Really! ... I know that … that … the … poison is still here and I can die … it’s still a … possibility … but I refuse to die!”

 

       Aramis was startled and ready to argue.

 

“I am not a child, Aramis. I know that these poisons can play tricks … bad … tricks … but … I will … fight … for you … the others … for me ...” He sighed, exhausted by this long speech.

 

“Thank you, my friend.”

 

       Aramis squeezed his forearm and left his hand on it.

 

“And?”

 

“And what?” Aramis asked.

 

“There is something else.”

 

“My … problems …”

 

“Your _big_ secret, you mean?” Athos asked with a fond smile.

 

       Aramis, at last, turned to him.

 

“D’Artagnan and Porthos often go to the palace these days … and if … if they …”

 

“Don’t worry … don’t think about it right now … You are tired and your mind is tired ...” He stopped and thought. “Did I … did I … ?”

 

“What?” Aramis squeezed his forearm again feeling the tremors increasing in his friend’s body.

 

“When I was … confused … you said … you said … I talked nonsense ... Did I … did I … say … someth … something ... compromising?”

 

“No, Athos, no, you didn’t … You said … strange words … in a language your mind had invented, you saw things that didn’t exist, but no, you didn’t say anything … It’s just …”

 

“Just that you are exhausted … as I am …”

 

       Athos yawned and briefly covered Aramis’ hand on his arm with his warm and trembling fingers. The silence stretched between them. Aramis had raised his head again and seemed to observe the cobwebs swaying between the blackened beams and he suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked down at Athos whose head was now in the crook of his neck. He was asleep, mouth open, his breath soft and even.

 

“Who is the drooling cocker now?” Aramis murmured smiling fondly.

 

       And he curled an arm around his friend’s shoulders guiding him on his lap where he had put a pillow. He resumed his observation of the ceiling, absent-mindedly running his fingers on the again feverish back and neck but soon, his burning eyes closed too.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fleur de souci = marigold flower  
> soucis = worries  
> bourgogne = wine from Burgundy  
> chinon = wine from Touraine.


	20. What have I done wrong this time?

⚔⚔

 

**_Le Louvre_ **

 

        Of course Milady had heard about the latest gossip at court. The young court-lady of the Queen was dead. The flu had taken another victim and this time, not a young child or an old woman, but a young and beautiful woman in her early twenties. 

 

        She had seen her several days ago laughing with the other ladies about a joke the King had just made. Oh yes, Louis was good at making young women giggle. He did it on purpose. She knew. She had just made plans to leave the palace for a walk as d’Artagnan approached her. She was wearing a beautiful blue dress, a present from her new lover.

 

        The young handsome man looked angry and he came straight to her.

 

“Oh no, d’Artagnan, what have I done wrong this time?” She said to him in a reproachful tone, before the young Gascon could say anything.

 

“We need to talk, but not here!”

 

        Curious, she followed him, balancing her silky skirt with a liquid movement of her hips.

 

“What is it?” 

 

“I can imagine why you have returned to Paris.” The young man told her angrily. 

 

They went into a small and dark room and d’Artagnan closed the door.

 

“But you could have left him alone! Don’t you think he has suffered enough?”

 

“I have no idea what you are talking about, d’Artagnan?” Milady said, confused.

 

“He spared your life!” D’Artagnan spit in her face. He was in rage now. “The least you could have done was to accept that as a sign of truce.” His face had become reddish.

 

“I am still not sure what you are talking about. Is it Athos? I have done nothing!” Milady tried to think what was going on. “Has something happened to him?” She wanted to know.

 

“As if you didn’t know that already!” D’Artagnan locked eyes with her. She returned his stare and they stood for several seconds like that.

 

“D’Artagnan, I am not sure why you are mad at me. Perhaps you would have the courtesy to explain it to me?”

 

“You have poisoned him and right now he is fighting for his life!” 

 

        D’Artagnan stepped a few paces away from her and tried to read her thoughts and gestures as he informed her about her husband’s state of health. But he wasn’t sure how to read her expressions. She was a good actress. He himself had experienced that last year as she tried to influence him in order to get her revenge on Athos. The only thing he could see was a shocked expression in her pale green eyes.

 

“Athos has been poisoned? I thought he had the flu? How is he?” She asked in a soft tone.

 

“Please, as if you wouldn’t know that. You know how poison works on a body. I thought you would leave him in peace, now that you are at the palace.” 

 

        The next gesture was unexpected. Milady slapped his left cheek.

 

“You dare to shout at me like that again! Not here, not in the palace!” She cried her eyes blazing dangerously. 

 

        Then with a step back and a lower voice.

 

“I have no intention to poison Athos … not anymore. I have made my peace with him.”

 

“Really?” The young Gascon mocked her. “You made many efforts, several months ago, and he threatened to kill you if you ever returned to Paris. Have you already forgotten about that?”

 

“Yes, he said that, but he would never do it. He still loves me! Oh, d’Artagnan you are such a fool. I have no reason to kill him and if I really had the intention to do it I wouldn’t do it in secret. I would want him to see me. I am disappointed in you. I thought you were smarter!”

 

        She turned around and walked to the door. As she was going to open it, she looked back at d’Artagnan. Her eyes focusing on his face.

 

“Tell him … tell him he shall fight this ...!” With these words she left a stunned d’Artagnan behind. 

 

        He wasn’t sure but he thought her eyes shimmered a little and her voice nearly broke as she said her last sentence to him. If she really played this all - the not-knowing, the broken and sad voice full of sorrow - she was a brilliant actress. Her hurt look and her trembling voice as she gave her wishes to Athos sounded real. 

 

_ I have to tell the others, either she is playing all that, or we really have to look for another perpetrator. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

**_Le Louvre, state room_ **

 

        Porthos tried to ignore the pain in his thigh. He stood next to d’Artagnan in the state room of the palace and they both witnessed how a certain James O’Sullivan, an Irish former soldier, presented King Louis several plants. 

 

“Each of this plants has a special effect.” 

 

        The Queen who sat next to her husband became curious. She needed some distraction. The death of her favourite lady-in-waiting had hit her hard, but nevertheless she had decided to attend the reception of some more guests for the trade summit. Now that she was sitting next to her husband the good-looking Irishman had ignited her interest.

 

“What do you mean with special effect?” She asked.

 

“All those plants are poisonous!” The Irishman continued. 

 

        A loud murmuring echoed through the room from courtiers and merchants.

 

“Do you want to poison me?” King Louis asked irritated, hiding his own insecurity behind another bright smile of his.

 

        Rochefort stepped forward, his eyes glowing dangerously in the direction of the Irish merchant, feeling that his King was becoming agitated.

 

“Not at all, your Majesty!” The man hurried to add. “ The plants can be used as poison but given in small amounts they can save lives! For example they can help to cure a high fever, or those can help people to breathe easier or if they have heart problems theses can help as well.”

 

“So, you mean these plants can be used as medicine?” Lemay asked interested.

 

        He knew about some of them like the terrible foxglove which could cure heart problems but was a violent poison too, but these plants were new to him. The Queen’s light blue eyes watered and she turned away, suddenly sad . 

 

_ Maybe these plants could have saved her. _

 

        She blinked her tears back and addressed the Lord. 

 

“I wish you had stepped up a little earlier. You have been here now for over two weeks and your plants might have rescued my dear lady-in-waiting who lost today her fight against that horrible flu.”

 

        Porthos murmured to d’Artagnan:

 

“Who died?”

 

“Constance has told me that it’s a court lady from Spain. She came with a Spanish delegation to work for her as a lady-in-waiting. The one with the dark hair and the dark blue eyes, like a deep lake in the summertime.” 

 

        Porthos raised an eyebrow at the poetic description. D’Artagnan remembered meeting Constance again after his talk with Milady. Seeing her crying, he had gone over to her and tried to comfort her a little, finding out what had upset her so much. 

 

“That’s horrible, Porthos said. I knew her. She was a beautiful young woman. Always with a smile on her face, especially when she saw Athos.” He grinned at that thought. “The woman had a crush on him. You know, always the strong silent man with the sad and protective stare.” 

 

        D’Artagnan imagined this picture and grinned too, but he sobered as Porthos spoke again.

 

“Don’t tell him. Not now! We had to tell him earlier that the seamstress died of the poison she injected him with and as expected he didn’t take that very well. He feels guilty. He thinks that without him she would still be alive.”

 

        In the distance they both could hear the Irishman talking to the Queen, after he cleared his throat:

 

“I am very sorry for your loss, your Majesty. I am not sure if those plants could have helped with the flu. I am still experimenting with them. Right now, I know that they can be helpful for soldiers. I myself served several years in the army of my country and as the medic of my unit I could make a medication from those plants which helped, your Majesty. But we had to deal with wounds, not so much with the flu. Otherwise I would have contacted your doctor earlier. I even helped him with taking care of his latest patients.” He apologetically bowed before the Queen.

 

        Tréville watched the whole talk very alert and interested. 

 

_ What is a soldier from Ireland doing here in Paris?  _

 

        A glance to Porthos and d’Artagnan told him that they followed the whole discussion as well. As he usually did, he scanned the whole room. Besides the King and the Queen, Rochefort and this Irishman, he could see Milady de Winter. She was standing next to other court ladies. Slightly hidden behind two gossiping elderly ladies. She wore a beautiful blue dress and she had _forget-me-nots_ woven in her heavy braids. He thought about the fact that she was the new mistress of the King and groaned inwardly that the poor Queen had to endure her appearance at this gathering. 

 

_ This woman is still poison. But has she poisoned Athos? _

 

        At the other side of the room, next to his wife Christine-Marie, the Duke of Savoy was listening to the explanation of the Irish former soldier. Another glance to his two men and the Captain could see them whispering about something. 

 

“How is he?” D’Artagnan hadn’t had time to ask Porthos yet.

 

“We managed to reduce his fever.” Porthos answered knowing that d’Artagnan was asking about Athos’ welfare. “We had to bath him around noon. After that, he felt better, but this poison is still in his body and it’s very nasty. We could ask him some questions ...” Porthos paused as he noticed the angry look of Rochefort saying  _ You dare talking during an audience of the King.  _ He ignored him and continued.

 

“He is still very weak. Aramis is with him now. I will tell you more later or Rochefort will start a duel with me and I am not sure he would survive that.”

 

        D’Artagnan had to grin at the thought of how Porthos would win against this snake of a Red Guard. At this moment the King spoke again.   

“Oh, my dear wife! It’s so sad that your young friend has left us much too early. I think everybody will understand, if you want to rest.” He shortly looked at her, softly pressed the hand he was holding in his and continued.

 

“This flu is so horrible, one of my Musketeers, Athos, has caught it too. But I am happy to announce that he is on the mend. Tréville told me this morning.”

 

“Athos has the flu too?” The Queen looked upset and shocked at her husband. 

 

_ No wonder that I haven’t seen Aramis in days, _ she mused. 

 

        Queen Anne had already missed his daily short checkings on her and the baby, not that they talked, but now and then he peered through a door, visiting Marguerite or smiling shyly at her.  __

 

“Don’t worry my darling Queen! You will see, Athos will be fine and return to palace guard next week. I have told Tréville that his Lieutenant should rest this week to gather his strength again.”

 

        The Queen turned to Tréville:

 

“Please, Tréville send Athos our best wishes and I hope that he will be better soon!” She said sympathetically. 

 

        In her light-blue dress she looked beautiful, her earrings, swaying slowly with each of her moves and catching the light, were a mesmerising sight. Tréville nodded at her grateful.   

 

        Porthos stayed quiet. He was grateful for the words of his Queen, but what else could  she have said? Last year Athos and Aramis had saved the Queen’s life at the Convent. His eyes wandered to the other courtiers listening to the King’s speech and he spotted the Duke of Savoy, looking annoyed and bored. Porthos made the decision to follow him as soon as he left the room.

        James O’Sullivan explained another plant and Porthos was not sure what to think about the Irishman. He was in his early forties, he was tall and well-defined, taut muscles stretched the sleeves of his green velvet jacket. His face was clean shaven and his ginger hair was short cropped, unlike the fashion of the time. But maybe the French good taste hadn’t yet reached these strange and barely civilised British islands. At least, that’s what the young King Louis thought when the former soldier bowed in front of him. 

        Porthos carefully observed the square jaw, the straight nose, the ice blue eyes under almost feminine eyebrows. Something in this face was both angelic and devilish. Maybe the cunning glint in the eyes, or the ever present hint of a smile on his thin lips. A crease on both sides of his forehead gave his face a hard expression as if his past as a soldier, with all the horrors he had seen on the battlefields, had left its print, like the visible mark of a constant headache.    

        But why should this man have poisoned Athos? Where was a possible link between them. He could see Tréville checking the audience as well. The Irish medic had come to an end with his explanation and another merchant stepped in front of the King to show him his goods, while the Queen excused herself. The Duke of Savoy followed her but Porthos couldn’t follow him, because he would have left his post as palace guard. 

 

_ I will get my chance. I will find out if you have done any harm to my brother. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜   

 

**_Athos’ room_ **

 

_ It’s cool, on my neck, my chest. What? Oh, the Doctor is back. I must have fallen asleep again. What? I shall open my eyes. I’ll try, yes Aramis, I hear you. Let me sleep. I am tired. Stop touching my cheek. Ohhhh … My chest ... Cold on my chest. _

 

_ What is he feeling? My heartbeat ... Why is he bending over my mouth? My breathing … I wish they could stop talking, I want to sleep, too tired … _

_ Aramis could you please stop touching my face. No?  _

_ Yes, alright, … I open my eyes. _

 

“There you are!” Athos heard Aramis’ soothing voice as he slowly opened his eyes fearing that his vision would be blurred again. He let his head drop to the right side and glared, irritated, at the medic.

 

“Where else ... should … I be?” He answered drily and squeezed his eyes shut again. He could see a still blurry Aramis, but just one Aramis not four, and the honey seemed to have helped, because his throat hurt less. 

 

        Porthos chuckled softly in the background and on Tréville’s face a bright smile was plastered. D’Artagnan leant on the doorframe watching his mentor slowly waking.

 

_ Thank God, Athos’ charm is back,  _ Tréville thought, as he heard the still weak voice of his Lieutenant. 

 

“If you allow me, Athos, I need to check your eyes once more.” Dr. Lemay said, bowing again over his face. This time with a candle in his hand.    

        Athos endured the poking over him. He flinched as the doctor held the lit candle in  front of his eyes, checking if his pupils would contract, but they didn’t even if the bright light still hurt his eyes.

 

“Your eyes are still unfocused, but your pupils are less widened than this morning. It is a sign that the poison has started to leave your body. But nevertheless you are still very ill, your pulse is still too fast and so is your heartbeat, Athos!” 

 

        Lemay paused. He tried to banish the thought of the corpse of the young woman earlier that day. Her heartbeat had been beating too fast in her chest and her body couldn’t endure that any longer. Here, Lemay had found the same symptoms. He rested his hand on Athos’ chest, over his heart, to feel it again.

 

“Take it easy for a while, even if you feel better. Your body will need a lot of time to heal. Remember that!” He said to Athos warning him not to overdo it, now that he felt obviously better. “Your fever is still high, but it’s been worse in the last few days. Let’s check your throat. Please open your mouth wide.” Lemay checked the still swollen and reddish throat. 

 

“I guess it still hurts. But you seem to breathe better, so I think we can give the laudanum a miss, but I will give you another coffee potion, a little less than the last potions. I am not sure, but I think this medicine somehow makes the body more awake.”

 

        Lemay turned around to take the cup that d’Artagnan had brewed earlier.

 

“Thank you ... Doctor!” Athos whispered. 

 

        His eyes closed again. He felt the cup at his lips and he drank it with less pain in his throat. Aramis who had helped him again with drinking the medicine asked him if he was up to some more broth and honey and he nodded groggily. Lemay patted his shoulder. 

 

“I have to leave you, Athos, but I will check on you tomorrow again. Try to rest, to sleep. Your body needs it!” 

 

        With a quick smile he looked at the other Musketeers and left.

 

“Alright, gentlemen, you have heard what the Doctor has said. Athos, you still need rest, so we shouldn’t all sit around your bed!” Tréville looked around in his Lieutenant’s small quarters which was now crowded by one sick man lying in his bed and four Musketeers sitting or standing around him. He could see the fatigue on their faces.

 

“We will take turns, Athos. We will not leave you alone. Even if you feel better, you have heard the doctor!”

 

        Athos opened his eyes to look at his Captain.

 

“I doubt ... that you would leave ... me … alone! With a murderer ... on ... the loose.” Athos stated the obvious. “I know ... that there are ... two guards ... in front of my … door. But you … should all eat … sleep. I am … better … really!” Athos said sluggishly, closing his eyes again.

 

        On the one hand Tréville was still apprehensive about the weak state of health of Athos, on the other hand he felt relieved. Athos observing wit was back and with it his care for his brothers. Athos was not finished.

 

“Have you found anything out? Who?” He swallowed hard. “Who has … poisoned me?”

 

        Tréville glared into the eyes of his other soldiers. His stare said.  _ Not now. He needs rest.  _

 

“We are still investigating,”  Porthos said in a low warm voice as he sat next to Athos’ head. He softly pressed his shoulder, sensing Athos’ distress. “You are safe here! And now you should do as the Doctor has told you. Sleep! And we will take shifts and sit with you. Stop arguing!” He grinned as Athos wanted to say something against it, but was stopped by Tréville’s commanding voice.

 

“Alright, I will take the first turn, Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan go and eat something. Then d’Artagnan you will take the first shift, afterwards Aramis and then Porthos. I will see you in the morning.”

 

        They followed their Captain’s orders wishing their sick friend a good and restful night.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

“What have you found out?” Aramis asked his two brothers while eating a slice of bread, followed by an apple. The rest this afternoon had done him good and Athos on the road to recovery helped him to finally relax too.

 

        D’Artagnan told them about his meeting with Milady.

 

“So she is either a very good actress … or …”

 

“She is a good actress and a dangerous woman!” Porthos grumbled. “Have you forgotten about last year? She nearly killed Athos!”

 

        His fist thundered angrily on the table in the mess. Serge looked at them frowning.

 

“Or?” Aramis interrupted Porthos’ angry outburst.

 

“Or she is innocent. She sounded worried as she heard that Athos was poisoned and she wanted to let him know that he should fight this.” D’Artagnan closed his report.

 

        Porthos still looked angry.

 

“Do you think she did it?” Aramis asked d’Artagnan, knowing that the instinct of their youngest was usually good.

 

“It is hard to tell. My instinct tells me no.”

 

“Your instincts or her slim waist or the way she moves her hips like a dangerous cat?” Porthos asked, eyes blazing.

 

“Porthos!” Aramis shouted angrily. “What are you talking about?” Then turning to d’Artagnan. “Don’t listen to him.” Then again to Porthos. “You are insufferable, Porthos, can’t you think before speaking?”

 

        Porthos bowed his head, aware of his childish behaviour.

 

“Sorry, lad.” He apologised to d’Artagnan.

 

        But his hate towards this woman had spoken before him.

 

“We have to find out where she was when Athos took his scarf to the seamstress’ shop. I think the person who watched and followed him that day is our perpetrator.”

 

“What makes you think that, Aramis?” Porthos wanted to know. 

 

“Because this is the only way the devilish person could find out how to poison Athos. And even if Athos says it was nothing, I think that his trained skills have registered this bad person.” Aramis explained. “I only wish …” He paused, and both his brothers looked at him.

 

        Porthos laid a hand on his shoulder.

 

“We will get this bastard, Aramis!”

 

        Aramis sighed:

“So, have you found out something else?”

 

“I wanted to check out the Duke of Savoy, but I had to serve as palace guard. The Duke was in a reception of the King, but he left early and I couldn’t follow him. I will try my luck tomorrow. I want to have answers.” Porthos stated firmly.

 

“Not only you!” Aramis said tiredly. 

 

“There was an Irish merchant at the reception telling us something about poisonous plants.” D’Artagnan told Aramis. “I think he is a soldier. But even if he knows about poison, I don’t know where the link would be between him and Athos. He said he is a medic, so maybe you could talk with him, Aramis!” D’Artagnan concluded.

 

“I will give it a try tomorrow. Maybe someone contacted him and asked him about a poisonous plant.”

 

“Anything else?” Aramis asked.

 

“Only the very sad news that the favourite Queen’s kinswoman died today. She had the flu.” Porthos told him.

 

        Aramis sighed heavily.

 

“Don’t tell Athos! He is still very weak and we shouldn’t stress him with sad news. He liked her.”

 

        D’Artagnan looked up:

“One day you both will have to tell me that story, but not now, I have to take care of our sleeping Comte. See you at midnight, Aramis.” 

 

        D’Artagnan grabbed an apple and headed to the door. Porthos glared at Aramis.

 

“So if it isn’t Milady, and I am still not convinced she isn’t the perpetrator, we have to check on the Duke and this Irish merchant. Am I correct or am I missing something?” 

 

“I still have the feeling that it is the Duke! He is odd. His whole behaviour at this summit, from what you are telling me, is odd. Guess we both should go and rest a bit then our thinking will work better.” Aramis added yawning loudly. 

 

TBC


	21. Answers, I need answers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few of our readers were impatient so here is a new chapter.

⚔⚔

 

        After his men had silently left, Tréville went and tucked Athos in his blue blanket. Athos’ eyes were closed, his face was buried in his pillow and his breathing was more even than in the past days. Slowly, Tréville smoothed the dark blue fabric. Absorbed in thought he rested his hand on Athos’ forearm to settle him. If his Lieutenant didn’t want the touch he could easily withdraw his arm, but the half awake man let him be.

 

_Have I told the King too early that Athos is on the mend. This morning he looked so much better and then he had another relapse. We … I nearly lost you! God this is such a horrible poison … this devilish plant._

 

        His thoughts wandered back to the afternoon at the palace.

 

_Is it pure chance that this merchant O’Sullivan, a former soldier, presented those poisonous flowers to the King?_

_Is he behind the attack against Athos?_

_But why then show his murderous weapon in public?_

_Or did he think that we’d think it was the flu?_

_It is odd that he tells the Queen that his plants can help with battlefield medicine, to treat nasty wounds, but that they can’t help to treat the flu._

_If they could, no one would have died at the Palace._

_I have to check on this Irish soldier more carefully. Maybe I can send Aramis to talk to him. From one soldier to another, from one medic to another. Aramis needs some distraction, seeing Athos so severely ill isn’t good for him. He is too emotionally involved._

_And Porthos, I wish I could tell him about his father, but it will hurt him too much. I …_

 

        Tréville felt watched. His hand still resting on Athos’ arm, he looked into the young man’s face. Athos’ eyes were half opened, his green-black orbs scanning him, his body was trembling slightly and he was agitated. Tréville could see a sheen of sweat forming again on his warm forehead and he grabbed a cold and wet cloth to sponge his face.

 

“Try to sleep Athos, your body needs rest!”

 

“I wish I could, but … I think this medicine … is keeping me awake.”

 

_My heart is racing as my horse over cobbles._

_It hurts … I am sure that it is not good … the Doctor was worried …_

_Arghhh … I need to do something to make it stop …_

_This sound in my ears … it frightens me …_

 

        Athos tried to ignore the heavy pounding of his heart that had returned earlier. It was always the same feeling, first it galloped very fast, beating in his chest and he could feel it in his neck, then, suddenly, it stopped, he felt the itch in his chest, it slowed down, only to start again. In order to calm himself he coughed and his heart slowed down again.

 

_Thank God … the pain, the heavy beating is gone ..._

 

        Tréville locked eyes with the intelligent eyes of his Lieutenant seeing the distress in them.

 

“What is it? What is bothering you?”

 

“Anne … Milady … or whatever name she is using … right now.” Athos swallowed and Captain Tréville stayed quiet and listened, but didn’t stop bathing Athos’ forehead. “Aramis says … he thinks … that the person who has poisoned me … was the one who followed me … as … scarf.” Athos swallowed again.

 

“That the person who followed you that day as you brought your scarf to the dressmaker is the one who gave the order to poison you?” Tréville finished Athos sentence.

 

“Yes! … And if he … is correct … then it can’t be … Anne. I … I … ssaw … her …” Athos stopped exhausted, the sudden sadness hitting him like a thunderstorm. Tears were glittering in his eyes.

 

_Why did she return?_

_Why is she back in Paris?_

_And why … why of all men … has she decided to start an affair … with the King?_

 

“Where did you see her?” Tréville had the dull feeling that he already knew Athos’ answer.

 

“At the palace … kissing … kiss …” He stopped. He didn’t want to say the last words.

 

_My body is still playing tricks on me …_

_No, not again … please I don’t want to have another fit …_

_Make it go away ..._

 

        He felt another shudder grip his body and he feared that the cramps would return.

 

“I know, Athos!” Tréville said quietly, resting his hand on his forehead, then softly stroking a few strands of hair out of his face.

 

Athos couldn’t hide the tears anymore and Tréville wiped them away. He wanted to say something, but Tréville stopped him:

 

“I am sorry! I truly wish that she would not be the latest mistress of the King.”

 

“The others mustn’t know …” Athos sobbed.

 

“I won’t tell them …!”

 

        Athos gathered himself a bit more. His rational thinking helped him to cope with his emotions.

 

“So she has the perfect alibi. She has not followed me! But if not her, who else …” He stopped.

 

        He felt so tired. His eyes started to droop again.

 

“We will find out, Athos! Try to sleep. I am here!” Anxiously, he watched his Lieutenant fall fast asleep.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Somewhere in the palace_ **

 

_He is still alive!_

_He should be dead by now!_

_Why? Hasn’t the dressmaker given him all the poison?_

_Or did I give her the wrong mixture? …_

_Athos you will pay …_

_I need another plan and quickly … now is the time …_

 

The figure walking through the dark corridors of _le Louvre_ thought about a new attack, a new idea how to get rid of the Musketeer. Suddenly the figure stopped.

 

_I have an idea … yes, excellent, this can work … and nobody will ever know …_

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Time passed, slowly and painfully. Tréville kept his hand on his soldier’s arm. He couldn’t bring himself to break this contact. His eyes were lost somewhere in the darkness of the room. Silence had slowly come back in the garrison, barely disturbed by muffled noises of hooves and neighs in the stables. He heard someone laugh loudly perhaps in the mess as, with this still rainy weather, his soldiers couldn’t have their supper in the courtyard. He couldn’t help but smile when he heard a fight between stray cats. Their voices almost human as they mewed a long and gloomy _“nononononono_ ”. Then  silence, again, and loneliness.

        The fire was no more than glowing embers in the dark hearth. Tréville tried to breathe deeply but his throat felt constricted. He wasn’t a gregarious man, he valued his time alone in his office, but now, in this room filled with this thick wet air, he was alone. Terribly alone. He startled as something brushed the shutters outside. He snapped his head and opened his eyes wider as if he could see through the thick wood. Then nothing, an owl maybe, or a bat, or one of the fighting cats. His heart was pounding in his chest, mirroring the pounding in the sick soldier’s chest. It was still beating too fast.

        He had lost count of hours when a light scraping at the door made him jump. His chair scratched the wooden floor and he could feel Athos react to the noise. He briefly squeezed his arm before heading to the door.

 

“How is he?” An anxious d’Artagnan asked, as if he had waited hours for this moment ...

 

“Calmer for now. He is fast asleep, still feverish. I think you shouldn’t have too many problems with your charge.”

 

        D’Artagnan looked into the eyes of his captain.

 

“What is it, d’Artagnan?”

 

“Er … nothing. Sorry, Captain! It’s just. I shouldn’t give you orders, but … you … you look so tired. You should try to sleep. Please, sleep a few hours. Everything will be alright. I promise.” The young man smiled, uncertainly.

 

“Young man, you are right, you shouldn’t give me orders.” Tréville snapped trying to look angry.

 

“S … sorry ...” D’Artagnan stammered, bowing his head, and Tréville could see him blushing in spite of his tanned skin and the dimness of the room.

 

“But I will follow your advice. You are right. I am not young enough anymore to be sleep deprived a whole night and be as right as rain come morning. Take care of him.”

 

        With a smile and a pat on d’Artagnan’s back, he left the room.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        D’Artagnan approached the bed and sat down again at his friend’s bedside. Athos seemed calm even if a slight tremor continually ran through his body. He reached a hesitating hand to touch the warm fingers. Athos didn’t react, so, unconsciously mirroring his Captain’s action, d’Artagnan kept his hand there and with the other, he took the freshly soaked cloth and wringed it.

        He sighed. He hated this silence which wasn’t really silent, the night was noisy, actually, from the whispering and buzzing of bugs that spring had brought to life to the sounds of horses in the stables. D’Artagnan was on alert, his eyes were wide open and he scanned the room restlessly. He held his breath as his mind started to play tricks. Footsteps? No, it couldn’t be. Hours didn’t pass so fast, it was not yet the time for Aramis to take his place. So what was that noise? Silence again. Had he dreamt? He was becoming too nervous; he breathed deeply and he tried to focus on his charge. He didn’t dare rewet the cloth as for now Athos seemed calm, no need to wake him up with cold water, so he folded the wet fabric and laid it on the pale forehead.

        He tried to occupy his mind in order not to fall asleep like the last time he had to watch his brother. He waited patiently. No, he wasn’t patient, he was only resigned, and he didn’t have to be patient for long as suddenly he noticed a twitch in Athos’ fingers. He looked up and saw his friend’s eyeballs roll restlessly under the sweaty eyelids, the dark and long feathers of his eyelashes fluttering frantically on the translucent skin. D’Artagnan bent over his friend and brushed his thumb over the moving knuckles, whispering words of reassurance. A low moan escaped Athos’ lips:

 

“Mmmhhh … no … you can’t …you … It can’t be … mmhh.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_No. It can’t be._

_White silk and dark curls spread on the rug._

_His back bent over the frail body._

_Black leather._

_Straw like hair._

_Disheveled._

_His head turns slowly, oh, so slowly._

 

_No. It can’t be._

_Blood._

_Icy blue eyes._

_And the grin. This evil grin._

_Icy blue eyes._

_He turns back to his prey._

_And she stands up._

_And she smiles._

_Green eyes, pearly skin._

 

_No. It can’t be._

_Blue flowers in her hair._

_He turns back again._

_Black curls._

_Dishevelled._

_Dark eyes._

 

_No. It can’t be._

_A smile. This childish smile._

_He gets up._

_Icy blue eyes._

_A whip in his hand._

_He strikes._

_Blood._

_Pain._

_Again._

_Red on white silk._

 

_And she laughs._

_She laughs._

_She laughs._

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  


“Shhh ... It’s alright. Shhh …”

 

        D’Artagnan tried to calm his friend but nothing worked. He tried the Gascon poem again but it didn’t work, the more he talked, the more Athos became anxious and restless. He ripped the blue blanket from his bed and began to jerk his legs in all directions.

D’Artagnan tried to seize his ankles but, suddenly, Athos shot upright, his eyes wide open staring blankly at something above d’Artagnan’s head. He tried to rip the sheets away, all the while moaning. Suddenly he roared:

 

“You! It’s you! It can’t be! Let her go!”

 

        Big tears started to roll down his cheeks. D’Artagnan felt his chest tightening as he watched this picture of sorrow and despair. What were these phantoms who haunted his nights? The young man needed to calm him, to keep him from hurting himself. He let go of his ankles to seize his wrists but as he briefly lost focus on the man’s face, he couldn’t see the look of pure hatred in the haunted eyes, and he didn’t see the fist coming.

        First the shock silenced him. How had that man so much strength left? Then the pain radiated through his whole face and neck, he tasted blood on his lips, tears made their way under his eyelids, tears of pain, of frustration, but he had to react, and fast. The fight was not over. He was literally lying on his friend, the frantic wrists secured in his hands above Athos’ head when Aramis entered the room.

 

“What ...?” He asked unable to move further.

 

“Help me! Please!” D’Artagnan pleaded out of energy, still crying tears of frustration, fear and pain.

 

“Get down, you scare him, he sees you as an enemy! But don’t let go of his hands!” Aramis shouted.

 

“Sorry ...” D’Artagnan began, unable to hide his shame.

 

        He bowed his head and knelt on the floor keeping Athos’ wrists in one hand, slightly loosening his hold and leaving enough room for Aramis.

 

“Shhh ..., you did well, d’Artagnan. We are used to his nightmares, you aren’t. You couldn’t know.” Aramis reassured him all the while stroking Athos’ hair and cheeks.

 

        The frantic legs wouldn’t stop their moves so Aramis went to the bed foot and put his hands on the ankles, without squeezing, just letting his fingers rub at the sweaty skin. The man began to calm down but continued to sob helplessly.

 

“Talk to him.” Aramis said quietly.

 

“It didn’t work.”

 

“Now, it will work. I don’t doubt it. Just try!” Aramis smiled encouragingly.

 

        So d’Artagnan did. He spoke, his chin on the mattress, soft words in French and Gascon. He murmured and even hummed an old song his mother used to sing, and slowly, they felt the body relaxing.

 

“See, it worked. Now, let’s cover him again. It’s over.”

 

        Aramis stood up stretching his legs and arms.

 

“Come, let me see your jaw.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“Oh, I think I heard this somewhere.” Aramis smiled.

 

“Alright. It wasn’t his fault.”

 

“I know.” Aramis reassured him while probing at the quickly bruising flesh. “You are right, it’s nothing. But your complexion will have all the colours of the rainbow before tomorrow. Very original.”

 

“Can I stay?”

 

“But, you need …”

 

“Answers. I need answers.” D’Artagnan interrupted, glaring at Aramis, his dark eyes shining.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“You are lucky, you know.” Aramis mumbled as he spread a smelly salve on d’Artagnan’s jaw.

 

        They were sitting at the table, keeping an eye on Athos, but distant enough not to disturb his now peaceful sleep.

 

“You will have to enlighten me. At which moment have I been lucky tonight?” D’Artagnan’s eyes were two embers in the darkness. Aramis smiled, d’Artagnan glared.

 

“D’Artagnan, calm down, will you? You are lucky because it’s not Porthos in this bed.”

 

“I don’t want to laugh. I want answers!” D’Artagnan said with emphasis.

 

“So ask your questions.” Aramis told him, wiping his hands on a cloth before pouring a rich garnet wine into two cups and handing one to his young friend.

 

 _Athos has not once asked for some wine in the last few days._ Aramis thought surprised.

 

“Tell me the whole story. Begin at … the beginning.”

 

        There was a commanding tone in his voice which impressed Aramis. The latter took a gulp of the strong wine and looking up at the ceiling as if he could see the past unfold before his eyes between the beams blackened by old smoke, he began to speak. D’Artagnan couldn’t help but stare at the elegant hands crossed on the table. They were so clenched that the knuckles were slightly white.  

 

“Six years ago, Athos wasn’t the Athos you know now. He was a shadow of himself, a shell of a man”

 

“I think I have an idea of that.”

 

        D’Artagnan thought back at the night he had to pull Athos out of his burning chateau. The intense odour of fire and burnt wood was still in his nose. He shivered at the pure thought of how close he had come to losing his new _father figure_ that night. He remembered the pain Athos had endured: a face wetted by tears which made his eyes look even more bloodshot and his expression even more desperate. Drunk and confused and so unnaturally emotional, the former Comte had shared with him his biggest secret, hidden for so long from his friends. D’Artagnan had had to be brave at that moment for his mentor, and he had been brave and a sturdy presence at his side. His words, his guidance and his comfort had brought  Athos back to the here and now and to his senses.

 

“Yes, when you saved him, I suppose.” Aramis confirmed.

 

“He was so broken when I found him. I can’t forget.”

 

“As we will never forget what he had to endure all these years ago.”

 

        Aramis ran a hand through his hair and scratched nervously at the nape of his neck.

 

“After the Milady affair … You know the story now, but at the time we didn’t know. He had just told us about a woman who had died. So after this affair, he was so broken that he tried to drown his sorrow in alcohol. I know it seems so common to say it like that, but it’s true, he was a drowning man, and the only thing keeping him afloat was …” He paused, sucking in a shaky breath.

 

“You ...” D’Artagnan stated, smiling softly.

 

“Yes. He didn’t want to make us suffer, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself, and we had to rescue him in filthy taverns, to bring him back to his room where nightmares haunted his sleep. We learned to deal with them and I think it’s when our friendship became so strong.”

 

        He squeezed his eyes shut and stopped talking.

 

“Aramis, I am sorry if…”

 

“Then things seemed to improve. I couldn’t say that Athos was a merry man, but … he already had this dry humour you know …You have heard the part where this arrogant bastard came to the garrison.”

 

“Rochefort?”

 

“Mmmh. A few months later Tréville assigned twenty-five musketeers, by orders of Richelieu, to accompany the royal family to a [chateau in Touraine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/25770711#chapter_21_endnotes)* where a delegation from Spain would meet the King and especially the Queen. Tréville was moody, he couldn’t understand why he had to deplete his garrison with such a large group of Musketeers for only eight members of the Spanish royal family, their courtiers and servants, but he had no choice. It was a rather small chateau in a quiet countryside, built in a valley where a clear stream was singing softly hidden amongst yellow irises and reeds, it was surrounded by gentle slopes covered in thick forest making it look like a gem on a green velvet cushion. It was protected from possible attacks by high limestone walls.”

 

“So you went …”

 

“So we went. As soon as we arrived, we were assigned  to a precise post. Porthos and me at the main entry, and Athos, alone in a corridor, to guard the room of a cousin of the Queen, a lovely seventeen-year-old young lady, with porcelain skin, black silky ringlets and big blue eyes.”

 

“Aramis. Straight to important things, please.” D’Artagnan chided gently.

 

        Aramis patted his forearm, smiling softly.

 

“She was very shy and always stayed in her room or in the chapel, so Athos stood at the end of this very long corridor. He had been told not to go near the door of the room. It was a very hot day, in July, so, standing there alone in this stuffy place was exhausting.”

 

“And what happened?”

 

        A moan made them jump and look at the figure on the bed. Athos was whimpering in his sleep. D’Artagnan didn’t wait, got up and knelt near the bed whispering in the man’s ear. Athos relaxed and rolled onto his other side turning his back to the room. D’Artagnan quietly came back and sat at the table.

 

“See, you are good.” Aramis told him.

 

“Maybe.” D’Artagnan agreed. “So, the corridor?”

 

“Everything was quiet, but suddenly, Athos heard a scream.”

 

“A scream? The young lady? But was there another entrance to her room? Or Athos didn’t pay attention because of the heat and tiredness?” D’Artagnan asked anxiously.

 

“There was another door leading into her room, you know these chateaux, there are always secret doors hidden behind tapestries or bookshelves.”

 

“You know more about secret doors than me, but I trust you.” D’Artagnan smiled.

 

“So, Athos ran to the door of the room and tried to open it. He didn’t have to try for long as the door, surprisingly, was not bolted, and what he saw made him freeze.”

 

        D’Artagnan’s eyes widened.

 

“A man was bent over the young lady’s thin body. She couldn’t stop screaming, her dress was already torn apart, her hair disheveled, blood was dripping from her cheekbone. She was struggling under the slim but muscular body. Athos didn’t recognise the man immediately but as he threw himself into the room to save the girl, the man turned around slowly, without letting go of the lady’s fragile wrists, and Athos recognised him. Straw blond hair, icy blue eyes …”

 

“Rochefort!” D’Artagnan exclaimed, horrified.

 

“Himself. The man smirked, and Athos didn’t understand why. He reached for his sword.”

 

“And?”

 

“And nothing. His arms were seized from behind by someone, and Rochefort let go of the girl who escaped by running into that long corridor. The snake came to Athos who was trying to fight his captor.”

 

“But, he had seen Rochefort attempting to rape or raping this young lady. Rochefort could have escaped or fought him. The other man was an accomplice?”

 

“Yes, the other man was an accomplice and everything was just a trap. Rochefort wasn’t interested in the lady, all he wanted to do was make Athos fall in a trap.” Aramis answered sadly.

 

        He poured more wine in their cups and d’Artagnan drank his in one gulp.

 

“Hey, slow down young man. A hit on the head and wine are not good friends, you know.”

 

“It was not on the he …”

 

        A sigh made them look at the sleeping man. Aramis stood, went to the bed, laid a hand on Athos’ forehead and smoothed the sweaty locks. After letting his hand pause there for a moment, he laid it on the man’s chest to feel his heartbeat.

 

“He is less feverish, I think, but we should be quiet, now.” Aramis said in a low voice. “He needs to sleep!”

 

_And I still don’t like your fast heartbeat, Athos ..._

 

        D’Artagnan had crossed his hands on the table and put his chin on them. He blinked softly in the dim light. Aramis smiled fondly.

 

“Now, young man, you should go to your room and try to sleep”

 

“I am not …”

 

“Tired? You are, as we all are. We need you awake and not in that semi-conscious state.” He gently mocked.

 

        They heard footsteps on the stairs and they jumped. D’Artagnan reached for his sword … but it wasn’t at his waist anymore. He had put it on the trunk.

 

“It’s Porthos.” Aramis said quietly.

 

“How can you know that?” D’Artagnan replied still on alert.

 

“Don’t you think that I know how he walks?” Aramis smiled.

 

    … And the door slowly creaked open.

 

“ _Quand on parle du loup_!”[ *****](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/25770711#chapter_21_endnotes) Aramis laughed.

 

“Funny,” Porthos growled. “How is our sleeping beauty?”

 

        Aramis stood and fetched a third cup for Porthos who sat beside d’Artagnan where he could face the bed. Aramis observed him silently. Porthos’ eyes were bleary and Aramis wished he could wipe away the frown on his forehead. He smiled fondly as he noticed that the hem of his collar was printed on his left cheek. He had undoubtedly fallen asleep in one of his usual strange positions.

 

“He is better, less feverish, but his heart worries me, and he had a nasty nightmare during d’Artagnan’s watch.”

 

“And how it ended?”

 

“Look at d’Artagnan’s jaw.” Aramis smiled.

 

“Oh.” Porthos winced.

 

“But our young friend dealt with it remarkably.”

 

“Remarkably after you came.” D’Artagnan finished sadly, cradling his painful jaw with one hand.

 

        Strange colours from purple to yellow had already begun to spread on the left side of his face and surprisingly his eyelids were swollen. The blow had been violent.

 

“Now d’Artagnan, you can leave. Go and rest, please. You need it.”

 

“No, I’ll  stay. Porthos, you go and sleep! I am not tired and Aramis has things to tell me.”

 

“Alright.” Porthos agreed, too quickly in Aramis’ opinion.

 

        It was obvious that the man had barely slept and was exhausted. They needed his strength. Porthos swallowed the whole content of his cup and stood up. He approached the bed and, before leaving, he ran the back of his hand on the sweaty curls of Athos.

 

_Get better soon, you stubborn brother of mine. I need you sane!_

 

        Porthos crossed Athos’ room and left. D’Artagnan continued.

 

“So. Athos was arrested?”

 

“No. Not at all.”

 

“I don’t understand. I suppose that Rochefort wanted to accuse him of rape. So he should have been executed”

 

“Of course. But he wanted to kill him himself.” Aramis explained.

 

“Why didn’t he just kill him immediately?”

 

“Because he wanted to make him suffer. A lot.” Aramis added sadly.

 

        D’Artagnan clapped a hand on his mouth. His eyes were wide open in an incredulous expression.

 

“My God!” The muffled exclamation came, barely audible.

 

“So they ... took him to the park, in an hidden place in a thick copse of trees. And …” Aramis stopped and closed his eyes. “Now, you should sleep, please.” Aramis pleaded in a low shaky voice.

 

         But d’Artagnan had understood. He still could feel the swollen patterns on Athos’ back under the tip of his fingers during the bath. He still could see the haunted look in Aramis’ eyes when he had looked up at him questioningly. So he finished in a hushed and horrified tone:

 

“He was whipped!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un château en Touraine:
> 
> Château de Montpoupon : https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ch%C3%A2teau_de_Montpoupon
> 
> Françoise de Saint Gelais Lusignan, daughter of the owner of this chateau, became one of the ladies in waiting of Anne d'Autriche in 1642.
> 
> Translation:
> 
> Quand on parle du loup: Speaking of the devil.
> 
> Note:/
> 
> In Emilie (e4s2) Athos hears d’Artagnan and Constance talking about Milady being the mistress of King Louis. We decided that Athos already had seen the both of them in the palace before that episode. He’s not blind, but he has kept it to himself.


	22. Diu sie toun gouarde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our thanks go to Beth and Helensg for their work. All the remaining errors are ours.  
> Thank you, dear readers, for your reviews.  
> ♥♥♥

 ⚔⚔

  ** _Wednesday, 4th of June_ **

        Porthos felt as though he was being watched. He wasn’t sure why. He had been up from the first light of the day and crossed the muddy and still wet courtyard. He needed fresh air and he wanted to check on his horse. The stable door was open, usually at this time it was closed. Inside, he could hear the neighing of horses and in the box next to his own horse, Roger, Athos’ horse, was agitated, sensing that something must be wrong with Athos. Porthos looked around again.

 

“Hello, hey, is anybody there?”

 

        But as there was no answer he went over to Roger to calm him and to give both horses some carrots as a treat. Again he heard footsteps as he left and although the courtyard was still dark, he could have sworn he’d heard something or someone. Suddenly he had a very bad feeling so he hurried down the courtyard to their quarters and to Athos’ room.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        In front of the door, he nearly collided with Aramis and Tréville who were just coming out of Athos’ room.

 

“So Aramis, I am glad that you can come with me this morning to the palace!” An irritated Tréville said and recognising Porthos, he added. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Is he alright?” Porthos answered Tréville’s question with another question and continued:

 

“Who is with him?”

 

        Now Aramis was worried.

 

“Doctor Lemay has just left and we decided to step out and speak outside of Athos’ room so that he can sleep a little longer …”

 

“So right now, there is no one else with him? D’Artagnan?” Porthos interrupted his brother.

 

        Anxiously, he looked at the closed door.

 

_Something is wrong! Something is odd? Something is going to happen, I can feel it._

 

“D’Artagnan is sleeping.” Tréville explained.

 

“So, Athos is alone!” Porthos exclaimed angrily.

 

“Not quite. D’Artagnan is fast asleep on his floor.” Tréville smiled.

 

“Porthos, would you have the courtesy and tell us what’s going on? Something is bothering you!” Aramis asked Porthos.

 

        But instead of giving both irritated men an answer, Porthos pushed the door to Athos’ room open.

 

“Porthos, don’t wake the boy up, please.” Aramis warned.

 

        The room was dark, no candle was burning and only a few rays of light were shining through the half closed curtain of the small window. Athos was lying on his bed, covered with his thick blue blanket and sleeping. Porthos could hear his less agitated breathing. Quietly, Porthos stepped into the room and looked around. On the floor at the head of the bed, d’Artagnan was curled on a nest of blankets, snoring softly. His cheek was worse than the night before showing a spectrum of dark colours. Porthos reached quietly to pull up a blanket which had slipped off his thin shoulders. The young man didn’t move, he just sighed and curled a little more on himself. He seemed so unaware of the world outside that anyone could have entered the room without waking him up. He was sound asleep and peaceful like a child.

        Porthos looked up at Athos’ scant belongings. Nowhere to hide, except under the bed. Porthos hunkered down, squinted a little to see better in the dim light, and looked to see but there was nothing. He sighed out loudly. Aramis who had silently followed him was now more than worried. He laid a hand on Porthos’  forehead, while Tréville was ready to catch or hold him.

 

“What are you doing, Aramis?” Porthos said to Aramis quietly, but disgruntled.

 

“Checking if you have a fever. You are behaving oddly this morning!”

 

        Porthos took a step back, looked at his Captain and Aramis and made a gesture that they should discuss this outside Athos’ door. As Tréville went to shut it, Porthos put one foot in it and shook his head.

 

“I am not sure, but I think that there is someone here in the garrison.” He whispered.

 

“What do you mean with “someone”?” Tréville asked more irritated than before.

 

        Aramis suddenly understood.

 

“You expect another attack on Athos?”

 

“Well, it could be …” Porthos tried to settle his nerves.

 

        Tréville breathed in deeply. He had sent the guards at Athos’ door away to have breakfast but Porthos was right, as long as the perpetrator was on the loose Athos wasn’t safe.

 

“I have a very strange feeling in my gut! And I think I heard someone this morning at the courtyard. The stable door was open and as I went in to check I could hear footsteps outside. So I checked, but no one was there. If it had been a Musketeer I would have seen him or he would have made himself known.” Porthos explained.

 

“I don’t want to risk anything, Porthos!” Tréville decided. “You are going to stay here with him. I will send the two guards back and d’Artagnan and you will be with Athos until noon.” He paused, then looked at Aramis. “I just wanted to ask you Aramis, if you could accompany me to the palace. We need to do some research on this Irish merchant. He is a former soldier and he has told the King that he is a medic. I think it would be wise if you as our medic could talk to him. Find out if he has any connections to Athos.”

 

        Aramis nodded.

 

“And Aramis, stay away from the Duke of Savoy! I will try to do some research or Porthos can do it this afternoon.” Tréville added in a warning tone.

 

“Alright, Captain!” Both friends agreed.

 

“Wait, let me see, yes, with d’Artagnan’s swollen eye and purple jaw, I think it is better if he stays the whole day with Athos.” Tréville added.

 

        Aramis groaned:

 

“Athos will feel guilty!”

 

“You do know that this is a habit our dear Comte has now and then!” Porthos grinned, looking fondly into Athos’ direction.

 

“We will see each other later! He announced.

 

“Take good care of him. He was restless tonight and he has still a high fever, but he is better than yesterday so no trip outside today.” The medic added mockingly. To alleviate the stressed atmosphere “just try to keep him calm. This coffee makes him agitated and the poison causes him to have dreams,” Aramis informed Porthos, before he prepared for his day at the palace.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜       

 

        Aramis’ boots echoed over the floor as he rushed down the long corridor leading to the Queen’s quarters. Around him the walls were covered with beautiful paintings. He had promised Athos not to to be stupid, but he had heard that Marguerite had the flu and at least he wanted to check on her. He knocked on her white and golden door and when it was opened he was surprised to see that she was already up. She still looked pale, but much better than Athos.

 

“Aramis! What a surprise!” She greeted him with a delighted smile.

 

“How are you?” Aramis asked as he entered.

 

“I am better! But it is odd I can’t feel really happy right now. It is so horrible that the other poor woman didn’t survive, she was so young. She was such a warm and lovely person. Sometimes she was sad and she seemed to be afraid to meet men, but she was so beautiful and had a very good character. It seems that God always wants to have the good people near him in heaven.” She tried to blink a tear away.

 

        Aramis reached out to her. With his thumb he softly wiped the tears on her cheeks away. He came closer and hugged her. Then he placed a kiss on her forehead and buried his chin in her hair smelling lemon and orange. He loved that smell.

 

“Be careful I don’t want you to catch the flu too!” Marguerite tried to free herself from his soft embrace but he didn’t let her go.

 

“Shhh … it’s alright! If you are up by now, you aren’t infectious anymore. I am so sorry for your loss, but I am glad that you are still alive. I will pray for your friend’s soul.” He softly spoke into her ear.

 

“I missed you Aramis!” She soothed into his ear. “Where have you been these past days?”

 

        Aramis looked into her beautiful blue eyes still wet from her tears.

 

“Athos … He is very ill too … I had to take care of him.” He paused. “As the medic of the garrison, I have to take care of him.” He explained.  

 

“Does he have the flu, too?”

 

        Aramis didn’t know what to answer. Should he stick to this story? If he told Marguerite the court gossip would go faster to the throne room than he himself could walk there.

 

“Yes, he has a really bad form of flu and he is very ill!”

 

“I am sorry. Please tell him that I am praying for his fast recovery.” She finally loosened his embrace. “I have to go Aramis and check on the Dauphin. There seem to be two different versions of the flu!” She added. “The Dauphin and I were lucky, the most horrible thing was the high fever followed by the coughing, but strangely Nita -as the Queen called her-, never coughed. She had only a very high fever and her heart couldn’t deal with that. Thank you for checking on me, Aramis. I know that you are very busy.”

 

        Aramis had listened carefully:

 

“What other symptoms did she have?”

 

“She had a swollen throat. It hurt her so much that she couldn’t drink much and in the end she refused to drink at all. She was complaining about a headache and she was sick several times, why? Does Athos have the same symptoms?”

 

        Aramis evaded the question.

 

“I am not sure. I will ask Doctor Lemay!”

 

“Sorry, I really have to go now, Aramis!” She hurried away.

 

        As Aramis left her room he was spotted by Rochefort.

 

 _What is this Musketeer doing in the Queen’s quarters?_ Rochefort wondered.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

   

        Now alone in the dim room, Porthos was sitting quietly on the trunk, all his senses alert, he couldn’t help but listen to the noises and watch everywhere. The garrison slowly returned to life. He could hear muffled discussions and laughs, pounding of hooves on the cobbles and clatters of metal. The room was like a world apart, soft light, hushed sounds, stifling air. Porthos sighed and caught himself observing a thin finger of soft light slowly making its way through a slit between the shutters. As the sun rose, the finger came to gently brush d’Artagnan’s silky and disheveled hair colouring it in auburn shades.

        Suddenly, at the same time, which made Porthos smile, both Athos and d’Artagnan stirred and sighed. D’Artagnan tried to open his eyes but winced and moaned as a dull pain throbbed in the left side of his face. He reached a hand and covered the damaged flesh. He sat up and immediately looked at Athos blinking frantically as the morning sun blinded his still half-asleep eyes, shedding a new light on the nasty bruises, creating a shadow-play which worsened their aspect. Bleary green eyes were staring at him with an unreadable expression.

 

“What…?” Athos croaked.

 

“Oi, Athos, how are you?” Porthos asked cheerfully.

 

        But Athos didn’t listen to him. The only thing he could see was the bruised-coloured face eye level with his. He tried to sit up.

 

“What happened to … your face?” He articulated slowly.

 

“Nothing …” D’Artagnan bent his head to evade the suspicious glance.

 

        Suddenly, Athos flexed his right hand and winced.

 

“I … I … I did that to you?”

 

“It’s nothing. I swear. You were … dreaming. It doesn’t hurt … at least … not too much.”

 

“I did that to you.” Athos moaned, a hand clapped on his mouth, eyes watering.

 

        D’Artagnan jumped to his feet and sat on the edge of the mattress with his hands up to stop the man from spiraling into guilt. Porthos sat at the foot of the bed and gently stroked Athos’ ankle in a reassuring gesture.

 

“It wasn’t you, Athos, it was the _dreaming you_.” D’Artagnan said softly.

 

        Athos had rolled onto his side to turn his back to them.

 

“Athos, let me tell you a short story. Something that happened to me when I was fifteen, not a child, nearly a young man.”                                                                              

 

        No reaction.

 

“Athos, listen to me, please. So, one night, I was sick and I had a bad nightmare. My father came and tried to wake me up but he couldn’t, he tried to calm me but nothing worked. I fought like a demon and …”

 

“And?” Porthos asked curiously.

 

“And I seized his hand and squeezed with so much strength that I broke his forefinger.”

 

        Porthos was looking at him with a weird expression.

 

“You are a liar.” Athos’ muffled voice came from the crumpled sheets.

 

“Alright, maybe a little … but I swear, I hurt him. But it wasn’t me, it was a _dreaming me_. So please, look at us now and tell us how you feel.”

 

        Athos sighed, and tried to sit up. D’Artagnan held his hand to help him. Athos accepted it and sat up. D’Artagnan froze at the sensation of the palm in his. It was terribly hot and clammy.

 

“Athos. How are you feeling?” D’Artagnan asked alarmed.

 

_Why is it so hot in this room? My body … my head … I …. I …. No, not again, please not … What? What did you just ask ...?_

 

“I am … fine.” Athos answered uncertain.

 

_Stop this … please … I am feeling so hot … nooo … I … I can’t control my body …_

_No, not again …. D’Artagnan help me … Porthos, what’s wrong … I …._

 

        He swayed a little. D’Artagnan tightened his hold around the burning fingers and looked at Porthos.

 

“He is burning again.” He whispered. “Athos, lay down, please, you have a fever and I can feel your pulse drumming. Please.” D’Artagnan pleaded.

 

_Everything is so blurred. I … I need to … I …_

 

“He is right, Athos, you must rest. I will bring you a glass of water. Wait a moment and I’ll be right back.”

 

        Porthos stood up quickly and went to the table where he poured some water into a cup mixing it with a spoonful of rose honey. He had just finished when he heard Athos’ choked cry. When he turned around, the sight terrified him.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Lady Marguerite, you shouldn’t receive visits from men in the Queen’s quarters! You are well aware of that!” Rochefort’s high voice startled the governess of the Dauphin.  

 

        The little monarch was lying in his cradle and playing with a rattle which Marguerite was holding in front of his little round nose. She raised her pale face and her eyes met the well trimmed beard of Rochefort, with his skin as smooth as the skin of the royal baby, with his rosy cheeks, his icy stare and his heinous thin pursed lips.

 

“It was … only the Musketeer Aramis, he had heard that I was ill and wanted to check on me!” She excused herself.

 

        Rochefort looked at the slightly shaky and still pale woman in front of him. She couldn’t avert her eyes from the cruel blue irises, but her head was slightly bowed in the posture of a child waiting for a punishment. He casually touched the rosary he was wearing as a necklace enjoying the way Marguerite’s distraught eyes followed the movement of his hand slowly sliding down his chest.

 

“I am glad that you are up again!.Do you really feel fit enough to look after the Dauphin?” Rochefort moved nearer to the boy’s cradle and smiled oddly in his direction.

 

“Yes!” Marguerite confirmed. “I have already told the Queen that I will take care of the Dauphin on Friday, so that she can attend the trade summit feast.” She smiled with uncertainty.

 

“She is very lucky to have you.” Rochefort told her in an unpleasant tone and excused himself.

 

        Marguerite shuddered, every time she was stopped by this man she felt uncomfortable and scared. She felt the longing for Aramis’ protective arms around her.

 

 _How different men can be!_ She told herself.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

**_Athos’ room_ **

 

        Athos’ body arched, taut as the string of a bow. Porthos could only see a flash of white in his red rimmed eyes rolling back into his head. D’Artagnan was kneeling on the bed facing him and had his left hand on the nape of Athos’ neck, holding him upright to keep him from hurting himself with the headboard. His other hand had never left Athos’. He was whispering in the man’s ear, calm and steady. D’Artagnan wasn’t a sleeping child anymore, he was a _grown up_ Musketeer and Porthos admired his self-control as he himself began to tremble like a leaf. He sat down on a chair, unable to make a move, unable to speak.

 

“Do you … need … er ...” He tried to ask.

 

“Shh, no, it’s alright, Porthos.” D’Artagnan reassured him.

 

“Alright?” Porthos huffed. “We don’t have the same idea of that word.”

 

“Shhh, Porthos. He is relaxing …” Then he continued his litany “ _Diu sie toun gouarde cos: Diu sun dit escriue. En papé de toun cos sa lei, qui toustem biue_!”

 

        Athos’ body suddenly became limp and he slumped head first against his young brother’s chest. D’Artagnan let go of Athos’ slack fingers and ran his hand in small circles on his back, then he guided him until he laid back on the pillow, snoring softly.

 

“Did he…?” Porthos asked shyly.

 

        D’Artagnan bent over the bed and reached a hand to touch the sheets.

 

“No, he didn’t. It wasn’t a strong fit. He didn’t even bite his tongue. He will be fine now.”

 

“Fine!” Porthos snorted. “Do you have the same definition of _fine_ then?”

 

“Calm down Porthos. It’s all we can do for now. You should drink something, you are … grey.”

 

“Rubbish, it’s the light. And …[ _C’est l’hôpital qui se moque de la Charité_ ” *****](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/25826976#chapter_22_endnotes)

 

“Porthos, there is no shame in being scared. You barely slept in the past days, you are not used to this kind of fit. And you are old.” D’Artagnan laughed gently. “Seriously, I would be scared if I were you. Now give me a wet cloth, I will keep it on his forehead, and … while you are at it soak two more cloths for his wrists.”

 

        When he came back with the cloths, Porthos asked:

 

“What was it, the things you told him?”

 

“A Gascon poem, it means: May God be your bodyguard, may his finger write his law on your body, like on an indestructible sheet of paper.”

 

“Alright. Sit with me now, a good old glass of red wine will help us, the Athos’ method.” Porthos tried to joke.

 

“Porthos …” D’Artagnan began, barely audible as he sat down next to Porthos, facing the bed. “Aramis didn’t finish the story last night. About the whipping …”

 

        Porthos startled:

 

“He told you?”

 

“Yes, I want to know, I need to know. Don’t you think I deserve it now? I can’t help him, I can’t help you if you don’t trust me with this terrifying past … Aramis stopped as Athos was taken to the woods to be whipped.”

 

        So, slowly, taking small sips of wine, Porthos spoke. Eyes closed. A deep frown creasing his forehead.     

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Le Louvre_ **

 

“So for Friday, how shall we start our trade festival?” King Louis asked Rochefort and Tréville.

 

        Tréville was still tired, but he tried to be constructive.

 

“What about fireworks?” He suggested.

 

“We had fireworks last year, besides our feast will start in daylight. No, we can have fireworks at night, Tréville. What else? Any ideas. We need a good opening ceremony.”

 

“Some music and dance?” Tréville tried again.

 

“Oh, Tréville that is boring. Everybody has dance and music. No, I want something to make more of an impact.”

 

        Rochefort cleared his throat.

 

“I have an idea, your Majesty! If I may!”

 

“Yes, please, enlighten us!”

 

“One of my men has told me that last year the Duke of Savoy had a duel with Athos. He said it was a very good and entertaining fight and Athos won. Maybe we can do such a thing this year. A duel.”

 

“Oh, Rochefort that is such a good idea!”

 

“So I will ask two of my men …” Rochefort implied.

 

“No, no, no Rochefort that is boring! No, we will ask the Duke, as a participant of this summit to fight against Athos again. A revenge! That would be brilliant!” Louis looked like a child, smiling in the direction of Tréville who was stunned.

 

“Your Majesty, I … I think we have to find another Musketeer to fight against the Duke, Athos is still not well enough to fight.”

 

“Ohhh, but you have told me yesterday that he is on the mend. I am sure that he will be fit enough to fight that duel in two days, don’t you think?” The King said looking at Rochefort.

 

“Oh, I absolutely agree with you, your Majesty. I have seen Lady Marguerite this morning she had the flu too, but she is already up again and taking care of your son.” Rochefort grinned.

 

        Tréville was speechless. Athos wouldn’t be fit on Friday to fight a duel. He even wondered if he would have the strength to walk on his own to the palace that day, he doubted it.

 

“Your Majesty, if you allow me, I would be delighted to fight against the Duke, but Athos is still too weak!”

 

“Oh come on, Tréville don’t you think you are overprotecting your soldiers. If a woman is already fit, a soldier must be fit as well. I will inform the Duke of our plans and then I expect Athos to fight against him on Friday! Rochefort, as always, you have the most entertaining ideas. It is so good to have you around!”

 

        Tréville knew that he had no chance to argue against it. He needed to find an idea to keep Athos from being harmed, an idea to stop this insanity. Rochefort smirked at Tréville and the Captain of the Musketeers knew that this was the move of Rochefort he had expected to come much earlier.

        Always trying to find the weak spot in the Musketeer’s regiment, always trying to find a way that would force him to speak against the King first. This man knew how to trick him, how he had to talk and to act to make him look like an incompetent fool, gaining that way more power and more influence. Tréville tried to think frantically about a way how he could spare Athos this ordeal.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

**_Athos’ room_ **

 

“Porthos?” D’Artagnan called softly.

 

“What?” Porthos asked opening tired confused eyes.

 

“You were deep in thought. I am sure you forgot my existence for a while and my question too.”

 

“Er ... sorry. Yes the whipping …” He made a pause, rubbing his hands over his scratchy cheeks.

 

        D’Artagnan waited patiently watching intently the breathing of his sleeping brother, listening to the sound of Porthos’ hands on his stubble and of his heavy breathing.

 

“We had just finished our watch. Another team was due to relieve us. Tréville came to see if everything had gone well and we, the three of us, decided to go and see if Athos was fine. As soon as we arrived, we noticed that something was wrong. All doors were open, even the bedroom door, and Athos was nowhere to be seen.”

 

“Where was the lady?”

 

“We searched the room there was no one, but we found a few drops of blood on the counterpane. So we went back into the gardens and searched for a while. More and more worried we decided to split. Tréville searched the orchard, Aramis the park around the pool and the rose garden and I searched in the woods.”

 

“How did you find him.”

 

“Noises. Muffled cries and …”

 

        Porthos hid his eyes behind his large but surprisingly delicate hands, he kept them here as he continued, breathing deeply:

 

“You know, it’s a sound you don’t easily forget. The whip cutting through the air, cutting through … human flesh … through your friend’s flesh.”

 

        D’Artagnan winced and felt again the swelling of the -not so- old scars under the tip of his fingers.

 

“I shouted, both to make them stop and to warn Aramis and the Captain. Rochefort wasn’t alone, he had three men with him, three rogues, I should say. One of them drew his pistol and fired. I ducked behind a bush just in time and fired too. He fell, a bullet in the knee, screaming like a pig. Tréville and Aramis arrived. Tréville fired his pistol toward the sky and Aramis aimed at the remaining brutes. Rochefort stopped his nasty job, whip raised, eyes blazing. His accomplices tried to flee but we drew our swords and a fight began. Tréville approached that blond bastard and put the tip of his sword on his skinny neck, just here, where the life pulses, you know.”

 

        Porthos showed his own throat with a feral snarl, his teeth a flash of white in the dark room.

 

“Rochefort let go of that damn thing and began to argue, trying to justify this abomination by accusing Athos of attempting rape.”

 

“My God.” D’Artagnan breathed.

 

“But Tréville wouldn’t listen.”

 

“So, how did it end?”

 

“We quickly beat the two cowards so Rochefort had lost his allies. While Aramis and I took care of Athos, cutting the rope and wrapping him in my cape, Tréville assured Rochefort that Richelieu would know about that.”

 

“And what happened?”

 

“Richelieu covered it up. He couldn’t lose face by punishing Rochefort in front of everyone, it would have been a shame for him too. So he sent him to Spain as a spy. He justified it by arguing that without witnesses, except the guard who had arrested Athos, who swore that Rochefort wasn’t there, and the young lady who was too shocked to say anything, there was no proof of Athos’ innocence.”

 

“Bastards!” D’Artagnan growled.

 

“Porthos … it …”

 

        The raspy voice came from the bed, they both jumped on their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  _C’est l’hôpital qui se moque de la Charité._ : It’s the pot calling the kettle black.


	23. I could have died

⚔⚔

 

**_In the meantime at the palace_ **

        Aramis stared at the desk where one plant after another was put by the Irish merchant. He had a huge greyish sack with him which he had opened only a few minutes ago.

“Monsieur O’Sullivan it is such an honour that you take your time to show me your research on these plants. You haven’t told me before even although you helped me with my patients the last two weeks.” Doctor Lemay looked delighted into the crystal blue eyes of the Irish medic. I have asked the medic of the Musketeers to join us, so that we both can learn from your expert knowledge.

        Aramis stood next to Lemay watching the merchant who stood in front of him. The man was athletic, competent and intelligent, because he spoke in fluent French with them. He was impressed but it was hard for him to judge the character of the man standing there.

_What kind of possible connection might this man have to Athos?_

_Had his former life as the Comte de la Fère crossed this Irish man?_

_Or was he a friend of Gallagher? I have to find out, but how?_

“Does your Musketeer speak?” The Irish merchant mocked Aramis while addressing Lemay. “He hasn’t said a word since we came into your office.”

“He does speak!” Aramis smiled. “You have to excuse me. I was deep in thought!”

        Lemay helped:

“A friend of his has fallen severely ill. We believe that he has somehow come into contact with belladonna. Sorry, I haven’t told you before but I didn’t want to exploit you. You already have helped me so much with other patients and I wasn’t aware of your expert knowledge of poisonous plants.”

_God no, please don’t tell him that we are thinking that he has been poisoned. I should have warned Lemay that we did not wish to discuss this in public. This was a foolish mistake. I hope I won’t regret that later._

        The Irish man stopped abruptly putting more samples of his flowers on Lemay’s desk and addressed Aramis:  

“I am really sorry to hear that. Has he somehow mixed the berries with cherries? I hope he has not consumed too much. In my notes it says that ten to twenty berries can be deadly for a grown-up person. This is such a horrible plant. As far as I know there is no antidote and the patient has to endure intense pain. In most of the cases the patients die either of a too rapid heartbeat or the lack of oxygen. If the throat is too swollen, every single breath hurts the lungs, the body refuses to breathe anymore. In the end of the disease the patient sleeps more and more and gets no air and dies of that.”

        Aramis shuddered, he felt dizzy and nervous. Slowly he took off his hat and rang his hands through his thick brown hair, while trying to avoid eye contact with the Irish medic. He had never talked with Lemay about all the symptoms and he somehow had managed to block them for the last days. After Lemay told him that he thought that Athos wasn’t poisoned with a lethal dose he had concentrated on the acute symptoms of his brother.

        Lemay sensed the nervousness of the Musketeer and stepped in.

“We are not sure how much of the belladonna his body was exposed to, but from my point of view the dose was not lethal otherwise he would have been dead already. But nevertheless the dose was high, so his body is fighting the poison.”

“I wish I could help with another plant, but as far as I know there is no antidote.” O’Sullivan replied.

“From what I know, coffee beans might help, but we are still in the experimenting phase. If you are interested I can share my knowledge with you.”

        Lemay was now in his element as a scientist. Eagerly he was looking for some papers and notes he had made the last few days about the course of Athos’ illness. Aramis was glad that he could gather himself a bit. So this man knew a lot about belladonna and other poisonous plants but he seemed to be more a scientist than a killer. But he couldn’t judge this from only these few minutes of talking to each other.

“I would be very interested to see the patient too, if I may. It is always interesting to see the symptoms and reactions of a poisonous plant on the body of a patient.” O’Sullivan added excitedly.

        Aramis groaned inwardly. He could have skipped all the symptoms Athos’ body and soul had to endure in the past days. Angrily he cleared his throat:

“I am afraid, this won’t be possible. My friend is still very weak and I think Dr. Lemay will agree with me in this that he needs rest. An unknown person at his sick bed is not good for his recovery right now!” Aramis emphasised by looking coldly in O’Sullivan’s direction.

        His dark eyes mirrored his anger and his earnestness that this would be a thing he would not allow.      

_I could not protect you from being poisoned Athos, but I can protect you from this nosy merchant._

        Lemay noticed that Aramis had spoken harder than he usually did and he decided not to intervene for the Irish medic. Of course it would be the decision of Captain Tréville to ask for a second opinion, but Aramis’ own medical knowledge would convince him to listen to his own medic’s advice and not that of an outsider.

“I have to apologise” the Irish medic said feeling the sudden tension in the room. “I am so fascinated by these plants and how they are operating that I sometimes forget that people are suffering from the effects. I don’t want to harm your comrade in any way. As a former soldier myself I do understand the special bond between soldiers serving in the same regiment.”

“I have heard that you have been a soldier too?” Aramis was glad that he could change the topic.

“Yes, I was, but it was a long time ago. I have lost so many comrades in these past years that I decided to do something else. You know, through my work as a medic, I could easily move on and could build up a living as a tradesman.”

“You speak our language very well.” Aramis answered politely.

“I lived for several years in France and I have always been good in learning new things, which brings me back to our original topic, these plants that I have brought with me, for example the foxglove …”

        Lemay and O’Sullivan started to talk with each other about more medical items, symptoms and Aramis excused himself.

 _I don’t like this man. He was far too quick in knowing everything about belladonna and why does he want to see Athos? As a medic you must have compassion with your patients. Not like this …_ Aramis shook angrily his head.

_It is hard to say if you know Athos from a former life. He said that he has lived in France for a while, so it could be possible. Alas, I could not ask if he knew Gallagher. I need to check his room, maybe I will find some notes there and I have to do it quickly, because right now Lemay is keeping him busy._

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        A shadow, a hidden figure was following Aramis from a distance as the medic hurried through the corridors of the palace to the rooms were the less noble guests were quartered. He had asked Constance for help and she told him the shortest way. Usually, Aramis took his time, when he was at the palace and looked at the paintings that were showing Greek myths or Biblical scenes, or he enjoyed looking down from one of the windows into the beautiful gardens. But not now, not today. He was still too upset about the reaction of this Irish soldier or medic. The man hadn’t been with Athos the last few days, he hadn’t experienced the last horrible nightmare his friend was gripped in. He knew that Athos would be ashamed of himself when he woke up this morning and saw d’Artagnan’s bruised face. It would hurt him and it would not help him to recover and this arrogant person told him, “it is so fascinating to see how the symptoms are affecting the body of a patient”. This man had never been a medic. Maybe he had been a soldier, but a medic, he doubted that other comrades would have trusted him.

        Aramis was in a rage otherwise he might have noticed that the figure was still keeping pace with him. Stopping from time to time to wait, so that it wouldn’t be too obvious what the figure was doing. Finally Aramis reached the door of O’Sullivan’s room. He looked right and left to see if someone was coming. As he couldn’t spot anybody he opened the greenish door with a wooden handle and entered. Quietly he closed the door behind him. It was a spare room with one bed, a small table, one chair. Through a small window light fell into the room.

        Several papers were placed on the desk and there was a trunk in a corner. He opened it, but couldn’t find anything suspicious. Only clothes, but those were of high quality. The man must be rich. Maybe he wasn’t the perpetrator but he was paid for explaining which poison would work best. Maybe he was thinking in the wrong direction. He turned around again and started to read the papers but they were written in English, a language Athos could read and understand but not him. He was missing his friend at his side. He would have searched the room with him in a very effective way.

        Aramis looked around, what now? He looked a bit closer at the wall and noticed that under the green-blue wallpaper was a hidden door, leading to a second room. Curiously he opened the door by pushing against it. He was a bit disappointed about what he found. There were only a few glasses, a bottle of wine, several books lying on the floor and some stuff for washing. He bend down to pick up the first book as a creaking sound startled him.

“Goodness Aramis, you will never be a good spy!”

        Surprised he turned around, he knew this voice.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the very same question. But we have no time! He is on his way back! Come!”

        With these words Milady made a gesture to leave the room. Aramis followed her, he could hear footsteps coming nearer. Milady grabbed him, pressed him against the wall and started kissing him. The footsteps came nearer and nearer. O’Sullivan. Aramis could only see his brown boots, the rest of his view was covered by Milady.

“Maybe you two should take a room.” O’Sullivan told them, without really caring or looking.

        He opened his door, went inside, throwing his sack with a loud bump on the floor and closed his door behind him. Aramis tried to push Milady away.

“I am sure that Athos wouldn’t like this.” He murmured in her direction. He still could smell her sweet perfume of jasmine on his lips.

“I agree with you Aramis and to be honest you are not my type.”

“Why, because I am not a nobleman?”

“No, because you have too many women around you at the same time!”

        Bemused and irritated he looked at her.

“What are you doing here?”

“The very same as you, I guess. I am searching for answers. Come!” She encouraged him to follow her and they stepped in a vacant room.

“How is he?” Her light greenish eyes met his brown and he suddenly realised that Milady was worried.

“We nearly lost him … but I think he is on the road to recovery.” He sighed.

“Tell him to fight this! He needs you! Now! Go Aramis! If I find anything I will let you know. But …”

“But what … don’t … don’t tell him, that I …” She looked away, and tried to blink some tears away.  

 

“Don’t tell him that you asked about him? That I have seen you?” Aramis finished.

        Milady did not answer. She turned around and left the small room. Puzzled, Aramis watched her leaving.

_Well, that was interesting!_

        Aramis left the palace. On his way out he met Tréville who was fuming. His face was red and his eyes looked as cold as ice. Something had happened. Something that was not good.

“Aramis!” He shouted.

        And the marksman followed him to their horses.

“We need to talk, but not here, at the garrison! Follow me!” With these words said, he mounted his horse and Aramis followed him silently.

  


⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

  


**_Athos’ room, a few minutes earlier_ **

“Athos, you are awake!” D’Artagnan whispered, kneeling by the bed.

“It seems so.” Athos smiled trying to escape the young man’s hand on his forehead.

“And your forehead is cool.”

“And my heart isn’t trying to escape my chest anymore. Porthos, please, let go of my wrist.” Athos pleaded.

“Still too fast.” Porthos mumbled.

    Athos sighed. D’Artagnan could see the growing anxiety in his eyes, and Porthos’ own anxiety didn’t help. He turned towards him.

“Why don’t you go and breathe in some fresh air? Or eat something? You will become as skinny as I am if you continue like that. Your own words, Porthos, remember.” D’Artagnan laughed.  

   

        Athos snorted - a wonderful sound to his friends’ ears - and he sat up without help.

“Alright, but you wanted …” Porthos began.

“Yes, I wanted the end of the story, but I am not a child you know, and you won’t get rid of me for the next fifty years, so, take your time. Eat, rest and I will take care of this grumpy friend of ours. ”

    With these words, he sat next to Athos who sighed theatrically at the invasion of his personal space, and crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles in a perfect imitation of Aramis. They watched Porthos as he was leaving the room, shoulders bent. The door closed softly and they could hear the heavy footsteps on the stairs.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  


        Porthos needed air. It was around noon and he decided to step out for a while. Athos was awake but very silent, brooding over his fate and d’Artagnan tried to calm him. So he quietly left Athos quarter’s, took the few steps and found himself in the busy courtyard of the garrison. Around him loud noises, laughter, finally the sun was shining and in the background he could hear Serge calling for lunch. He had entered a different world, a world he had somehow left several days ago, in that night as he carried his sick brother home, thinking that he had drunk too much because of Milady …

        This woman was poison for Athos! He deeply breathed in and out. He looked around, raised his face against the sun and felt the hot rays on his cold skin. He needed that, right now. He was disturbed by hooves and two horses galloping into the courtyard. He didn’t need to turn around to know who just had arrived, but hold on, the feeling he had that morning was back. It was an uneasy feeling, that something bad would happen and he felt watched again. He looked around to left and right but he couldn’t see anything suspicious. He turned again  and saw Tréville approaching him with very fast steps, followed by a silent Aramis.

“My office, now!” He barked and Porthos knew that this order was directed at him and Aramis.

        With a glance back to his tired brother, Porthos tried to know what was going on, but Aramis only showed him with his shrugging shoulders that he was as clueless as him. So they hurried up the stairs towards the balcony and Tréville’s office. The Captain threw his hat on his bed and then fell into his wooden chair, signalling his officers to sit as well.  Now four dark eyes looked into two blue eyes and the two younger men did not dare to ask what was going on.

“One day, I am going to kill him!” Tréville said in a frightening silent tone. “One day I will punch him first in his face and then I will take my sword and …”

“I am not sure what Rochefort has done today, Captain, but Athos has already punched him in his face.” Aramis tried to break the ice.

        Irritated, as if Tréville just now realised that he had talked aloud, he looked at Aramis and said:

“When did he do that?”

“Oh, that was after we met him several weeks ago, he had just escaped the Spanish imprisonment and he wanted to run away by stealing Roger.” Porthos enlightened him.

“He went down in one go after Athos’ fist hit him and looked like a little child. But I guess Athos fist must have hurt afterwards.” Aramis added.

“I doubt that he has felt it!” Porthos interrupted him. “It was worth it to see Athos smile” Porthos fell silent. Seeing Athos smiling was so rare. It had changed since d’Artagnan had teamed up with them.

        Aramis tried to ease the tension. He bent forward and in a low voice he asked:

“What did he do, Captain?”

        Tréville rested his two arms on his desk and bent his head in his palms. He massaged his head, then he looked up with glittering tears of frustration and anger in his eyes.

“He has convinced the King that Athos is fit enough to fight a duel against the Duke of Savoy on Friday at the openíng ceremony for the summit festival! And all my arguments were ignored. He … he will not … survive this ...”

        Angrily wiping his eyes he looked at his two shocked officers. Porthos groaned out loud angrily and Aramis went pale as white linen, squinting and pursing his lips.

“I agree with you Captain, Athos’ heart is still worrying me. It is still beating too fast. He needs … it needs rest to slow down again. Too much movement could cause the heart to stop beating. He mustn’t fight against anybody in the next days. Or …” Aramis stopped talking and tried to hide his shaking hands.

“He will not be able to get to the palace at all.” Porthos suddenly broke the odd silence. “He had another convulsion this morning.”

        Alarmed Aramis jumped up.

“Wow, easy, Aramis! D’Artagnan is with him. The lad said that it was only a small one.”

“How is he right now?” Tréville pushed his sorrows away focussing on the actual situation.

“The good thing is that the fever has broken. He is a bit warm but that’s it. He has slept most of the morning and he can’t remember the fit. And we have decided not to tell him. But he feels guilty that he has hit his protégé last night and it makes him very sad.”

“I will check on him!” Aramis stood up, followed by Porthos and Tréville. As they reached the door Tréville warned them. “Don’t tell Athos about that duel!”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Christine, I am sorry, but your brother has gone mad!” The Duke of Savoy shouted furiously in their private chamber at _Le Louvre_.

“What has he done this time to make you angry?” Christine sighed.

        If she had known that the whole journey would be such a burden for her husband she would have told him to stay in Chambéry. Of course she knew that he was very upset that the Musketeer Athos had fought against him last year, beaten him and drew blood. It had been a great humiliation for him and it had took him several weeks to overcome it.    

“He wants me to fight against Athos on Friday.”

“I thought Athos had the flu, he can’t be fit enough to fight a duel.” Christine commented. “This is ridiculous!”

“Exactly, my thought, my dear wife!”

        The Duke reached out to her and kissed her on the lips.

“But your brother thinks he will be fit again, because one of the ladies in waiting is already fit. I have seen her, she is still very pale. Maybe she is fit to walk around, but after I had the flu several years ago, I needed two weeks afterwards to be able to sit back in my saddle and to manage a sword fight. If … and I say “if” I fight against Athos I would easily win and everybody would point the finger at me and say behind my back that me duelling a sick Musketeer is without honour!” He exclaimed angrily. “I would say the very same about anybody else who would do such a dishonourable deed! And besides Athos is a Comte, so many French noblemen would ignore me afterwards. It is their code of honour.”

“Maybe I can talk with my brother.” Christine tried to help.

“You know Christine, one year ago this would have been a good idea and he would have listened to you, but now he has changed.”

“The death of Cardinal Richelieu has hit him hard, my dear husband. Don’t be too harsh with him.”

“I am only stating the obvious, Christine!”

        Thoughtful he sat down on an armchair covered in red velvet.

“No, Christine, I think this is the doing of this Comte Rochefort. This man has a bad influence on your brother. With him around everybody else is pictured as a fool in the eyes of the King. He even manages that Queen Anne has no right to speak or advise her own husband anymore.”

        He became silent. Lady Christine-Anne waited patiently. She knew that her intelligent husband was brooding about something and from her experience it was best to let him think. Suddenly her husband stood up with a bright smile.

“Ha, I have a plan, Christine. A fantastic plan to teach this arrogant Rochefort a lesson.”

“What is your plan?”

“I will tell you later. I must know first if it really can work.”

        The first time in days Christine-Anne saw her husband almost happy and she wondered what had changed his mood.

  


⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜   

**_Athos’ room_ **

        When the echo of Porthos’ footsteps died away, Athos let a heavy silence stretch for a while in the dim room, then he spoke, his voice raspy and hushed.

“When they found me … that day … He … Rochefort had already hit ten times.”

“My God. Ten? But you could …”

“Yes, I could have died if …” He paused. “And that’s what he wanted.”

“But why?!” D’Artagnan exclaimed, horrified.

“Jealousy, madness, I am not sure. He couldn’t accept that Tréville had chosen me, a drunkard … and not him, a perfect nobleman.”

“Athos. You are not …!” D'Artagnan hissed.

“I am ... I was … He couldn’t accept that I would become a Musketeer and he wouldn’t, so he decided to make me pay for it.”

“You must have suffered a lot. I can’t imagine the pain.”

“The pain was unbearable. Yes, I admit it, the man who is always _fine_.” He smiled. “That man couldn’t bear the pain. Aramis had wrapped me in Porthos’ cloak, but as soft as it was, the leather had adhered to the gashes and the mere breathing was like fire.”

“Mmhh ...” D’Artagnan moaned in sympathy.

“The worst was when Porthos carried me on his shoulder, but then, everything went blank and after that, I can’t remember. I just remember waking up to a voice whispering in my ear and soft hands on my back.”

“Aramis’ hands.”

“Yes, I had always mocked him about the way he took care of his hands, almost like a court lady.”[ **1**](I%20could%20have%20died)

        He smiled softly at the memory and d’Artagnan laughed.

“But at that moment, I was very grateful for his smooth skin. I laid on my belly for days, my back coated with honey, fighting a fever as a few cuts were infected.”

        He paused for a moment allowing his still painful throat to rest and his breathing to slow down. D’Artagnan stood up and prepared a cup of water mixed with honey and Athos’ voice came again.

“They stayed with me for days, barely sleeping, barely eating. I don’t know how Tréville could accept it, but they are stubborn as you know …”

        D’Artagnan smiled again.

 _Tréville is stubborn too._ He thought.

“But … I wonder …”

“Yes?”

“The young lady? Why didn’t she tell anything? She knew it was him, didn’t she?”

“Of course, but first she was too shocked, I think, then … I don’t know … I think that Richelieu had something to do with her silence.”

        He paused, then turned to look straight at d’Artagnan, his eyes shining.

“About tonight … I … I am.”

“Don’t, Athos, please, don’t.” D’Artagnan pleaded laying a hand on his forearm and looking with all the affection he could muster into the tired green eyes. “It was a nightmare, a nasty nightmare. Do you … do you remember anything else …?” He asked cautiously.

“Er … no … just … no.” Athos lowered his gaze, staring at his so white hands on his lap.

“What?” D’Artagnan asked anxiously.

“Nothing … Images … In the nightmare … It’s confused … The young Spanish girl with Rochefort and when … When he turns around it’s not her anymore behind him … It’s …”

“Who is it, Athos?” D’Artagnan asked quietly.

“Anne.” Athos whispered almost apologetically. “I am sorry.”

        He closed his eyes, hiding his shame.

“It wasn’t your fault. Do you remember anything else?” D’Artagnan asked softly.  

“In my dream … You were there … You were restraining me … My … Head … In your hand … and you were holding me against you … You were speaking … in my ear … Strange words … I didn’t understand … But I felt … safe ... ”

“Oh.” D’Artagnan breathed.

“What?”

“Nothing, just … the words, you really heard them, it’s a Gascon poem.” He smiled, relieved.

“And what does it say?”

“ _Diu sie toun gouarde cos: Diu sun dit escriue. En papé de toun cos sa lei, qui toustem biue._ **[2](I%20could%20have%20died) ** May God be your guard, may God with His finger write His law on your body, like on an indestructible sheet of paper.”

        Athos caught d’Artagnan’s left wrist and squeezed but didn’t comment.

“I … I … think, I am a little … hungry ... Please, no need to applaud or ring the bells of Notre-Dame …” He smiled.

        D’Artagnan was already on his feet.

“Broth and fruits?”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“More?”

“I am not sure. I … my stomach … He is used to that damn honey … More could be …” Athos said in his Comte’s voice.

“And what about mashed carrots? Do you think your sugary stomach would welcome them?

“Mmmmh … Maybe!”

        D’Artagnan winked.

“So, for _Monsieur le Comte_ , a light broth with mashed carrots, if Roger agrees to share, and apples.”

“Just go, cheeky boy!”

“Er … Are you …?”

“Fine. Yes, I am fine. And I have two Cerberus at my door, so go, now!”

        Athos let his head sink again into the pillow and he closed his eyes.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        An odd feeling on his chest … Something was wrong, but Athos was still too tired and too confused to figure out what it was. He had felt hungry a little earlier and had asked d’Artagnan to get him a hot vegetable soup and an apple. So the young Gascon had left the room relieved about the first sign of improvement in days.

_No, that hurts, make it stop …_

_What’s going on?Aramis, is that you? No it can’t be you, you have warm, gentle_

_hands. Always …_

_Arghhhh … the pain is unbearable …_

_Stop it … I need to breathe … to breathe to ease the pain ..._

 

        Athos sucked in deep as the pain on his chest intensified. A hand. A hand just had lifted his shirt over his rash and now cold fingers poked over the infected wound that Aramis had earlier covered softly with a thick honey salve.

 

_Why can’t it stop? Go away. It hurts. Damn you!_

_Lemay … the Doctor is checking on me …_

_But why isn’t he talking to me?_

 

        The fingers did not stop poking around. The palm pressed on his chest, the other hand felt his pulse. _Maybe Lemay is back?_ Athos thought, exhausted. As the hand neared his mouth and opened it, he forced himself to open his eyes only to close them at once, because of the bright sun light. His pupils were still enlarged and the light caused a throbbing pain in his head. A voice began to talk, not talking to him, more to himself.

 

_Ohhh, my head hurts. The light is too bright._

_They should know that. Why is there light in my room?_

_Who is that?_

_That’s not Lemay!_

_I don’t know this voice._

_It sounds strange …_

_Stop it … stop touching me … Go away!!!_

“Oh this must be the last stages of the illness. The patient has a rapid heartbeat, a fast pulse and the throat is swollen. Soon he won’t be able to swallow anymore, refuse to drink because of the pain in his throat and stop breathing.”

_Why is he saying such things?_

_Aramis said I was better!_

_This man is frightening me._

_He should stop._

_Where is everybody else?_

_He has to stop! Now!!!_

        The man who was talking sounded fascinated and Athos became angry.

“Who are … you? What are you … doing in my … room?” He panted his heartbeat beginning to palpitate harder in his chest.

“Oh, it’s good that you are awake.” The stranger said. “Dr. Lemay sent me. He has asked me to check on you. It seems that your throat is still swollen to ease the pain I will give you some more laudanum.” The man turned away and pulled out a small bottle and a spoon.

        Athos felt hot and cold. Who was this stranger? He tried to get up, but his body was still too weak and too exhausted and he fell limp back onto his pillow. Frustrated he opened his eyes again, this time much more slowly and only slightly. The blurred figure in front of him had moved nearer to his bed again, a spoon in one hand a small bottle with some clear liquid in his other. Athos tried to remember where everybody was. Porthos had needed fresh air, d’Artagnan was on his way to the kitchen and Aramis … Athos was disturbed in his thoughts as the stranger bent down over his upper body.

“Now, open your mouth and I will give you a potion of laudanum.”

        _Not at all I won’t listen to your advises._

_This man has to leave!_

_I have to fight him!_

        Athos pressed his lips together. Aramis said that laudanum was not good for him, that it could be dangerous. Athos raised his right hand to slap the spoon out of the man’s hand. The spoon ended on the floor with a clinking sound, some of the liquid went into his blue blanket.

“Go away!” Athos shouted angrily.

“Oh this must be one of the rage fits the patient is experiencing through the poison.” The man mused aloud.

        He bent down over the weak Musketeer and tried to hold the man’s hand down. Athos started to struggle.

_I need help. Where is everybody? There should be Musketeers in front of my door …_

**_To be continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 “His delicate mustache marked a perfectly straight line upon his upper lip; he appeared to dread to lower his hands lest their veins should swell, and he pinched the tips of his ears from time to time to preserve their delicate pink transparency.” Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers.
> 
> 2 Gascon poem by Guillaume de Saluste du Bartas.


	24. Go away from him!

⚔⚔

 

        Athos started to shout. While he was struggling with the stranger a cup that stood next to his bed on a small table was knocked down and fell noisily to the ground. Then Athos could hear footsteps, people running and shouting. The weight of the stranger fixing his hands in a steel grip went away. He felt so tired, so exhausted, his heart was hammering in his chest. He had his eyes closed again and he could hear a soft voice talking into his ear, strong arms lifting him up.

 

“I have you! You are safe! I will bring you to my room!”

 

        Exhausted, Athos let his head loll on his brother’s chest, while the Musketeer carried his weak friend into the safety of his quarters, ignoring the shouting and loud noises around him by whispering comforting words in Athos’ ear.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A few minutes earlier_ **

 

        As they came near Athos’ room they could hear their brother’s loud shouts, then a clinking noise. The two Musketeers who were standing guard in front of Athos’ door started to react alarmed, but Aramis was faster. With two fast steps he reached his friend’s door and pushed it open only to be taken aback in horror for a second. A stranger was kneeling over Athos, holding him in a strong grip. With a loud roar of anger Aramis realised who was bending there dangerously over his sick brother. He rushed forward and with all his strength he grabbed the man’s body and pushed him away shouting:

 

“Go away from him!”

 

        The man landed heavily on the floor.

 

“Porthos!” Aramis shouted. “Bring Athos to safety.”

 

        Porthos seeing Aramis having the stranger under control rushed forward to Athos’ side. His brother was agitated and confused.

 

“Athos, it’s me Porthos! Are you hurt?”

 

        The only reaction he got was the trembling body of his brother. Porthos bent carefully over Athos, while talking to him, he gently lifted him in his strong arms. Aramis announcement was clear. _Take him to safety._ And so he did not wait any longer and decided to carry him to his own room. Athos’ head on his chest was less warm. The fever was finally gone, but the exhausted and tired state of his friend worried him. As they reached his room, Porthos carefully carried him to his bed and laid him softly down. Covering him with his grey blanket. Athos felt secure but so tired:

 

“What … took … you … so … long?”

 

        Athos slurred, as Porthos started to check for any hidden wounds, but he couldn’t find any. With his right hand he checked Athos’ heartbeat, that was still too fast.

 

 _No wonder._ He snorted angrily.

 

“I am here now. You are safe!” Porthos said with guilt in his voice, blaming himself that he had left his brother alone earlier.

 

“Thanksss …” He heard Athos slurring before his weak body succumbed into a light sleep.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Aramis had managed to throw O’Sullivan on the wooden floor. The soldier was taken by surprise, so he didn’t fight back at first. But the strong and athletic man was getting back on his feet, while Porthos carried Athos out of the room. The Irish soldier grabbed Aramis’ foot and pulled on it. The medic stumbled and ended on the floor. Both men started a fist fight. Tréville looked contrite, but found no good way to help Aramis without hurting him. So he watched the fight for a few more seconds and then shouted:

 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

 

        O’Sullivan stopped and Aramis landed a punch on his chin which sent the Irish medic again to the floor. Dazed he shook his head and exclaimed:

 

“Dr. Lemay asked me to check on your soldier. He had to do something for the King!”

 

        Aramis grabbed O’Sullivan by his collar pulled him to his feet and pushed him against the nearest wall.

 

“I told you that you should stay away!” He shouted angrily and pushed his arm against his throat. “I don’t believe a word of what you just said! Who are you? Why do you want to kill my friend!”

 

“Enough, Aramis!” Tréville roared as he noticed that O’Sullivan was struggling for air.

 

        Aramis didn’t listen and Tréville had to pull him from the Irish soldier, who collapsed catching his breath. In a sitting position he looked up at Tréville.

 

“I have a proof ... that I am telling ... the truth.” He gasped. “A letter …”

 

“Where?” Tréville shouted furiously at the man on the floor while holding Aramis in a firm grip so that his medic would calm down.

 

        Sullivan pointed with his finger on Athos’ desk. A note was lying there.

 

“Check what it says, Aramis!” Tréville ordered his officer.

 

        Aramis went to the table, opened the neatly folded note and read:

 

“On behalf of myself I am sending James O’Sullivan to check on your Lieutenant. He has volunteered to help and I hope that he can serve you the same way as I do. Regards, Dr. Lemay.”

 

“You should have come first to me.” Tréville said slowly.

 

“Captain, he could have forged this letter.” Aramis interrupted him.

 

“We will find out!” Tréville said to Aramis. “Go, check on Athos, I can handle this situation.”

 

        Aramis looked at the small now broken bottle on the floor.

 

“Have you given him something?” He snarled. His eyes dark and furious looking at the Irish soldier.

 

“I … I have figured out that he has a swollen throat. I wanted to give him laudanum. He seems to be in the end phase of the illness and we need to ease the pain or he cannot breath properly.” O’Sullivan stammered.

 

“You fool!” Aramis shouted. “How much have you given him from this medicine?” Threatening he made several steps to the false medic.

 

“No … nothing!” He refused to open his mouth.” O’Sullivan added. “But you really should consider …”

 

        Aramis wasn’t hearing anymore he stormed out of the room, looking for Athos. On his way out he collided with d’Artagnan who was carrying the hot soup in a bowl. The whole content including the bowl dropped on the floor.

 

“Not a word … not one single word …!” Aramis shouted at a stunned and shocked d’Artagnan.

 

        He pushed him out of his way and stormed in the direction of Porthos’ room, hoping that Athos would be alright. D’Artagnan dried his wet hands on his shirt, looked at the mess on the floor and then noticed a strange man sitting on the floor of Athos’ room. Tréville was just helping him to stand up. He wanted to turn around and to follow Aramis, but Tréville shouted:

 

“Come here, d’Artagnan! I could use your help. Besides I think it is for the best to let Aramis calm a little. Right now he is ready to kill someone, and I still need you … alive!” He sighed.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Aramis stopped in front of Porthos’ room. He was still much too agitated, angry and in the mood to kill someone.

 

 _Calm down! You don’t help Athos with your emotions, right now._ He told himself.

 

        So he breathed several times deeply and focused on his feet standing on firm ground before he silently knocked and entered. Only to be greeted by Porthos’ musket aiming at him.

 

“Thought you were somebody else!” Porthos apologised with a weak smile on his lips, while he was putting down his gun.

 

“Better safe than sorry!” Aramis said ruefully.

 

        He scanned Porthos’ dark room. He had drawn the curtains of his window and only a small candle was lit on a table far away from his bed. Aramis spotted Athos’ weak body on Porthos’ bed. He had curled in a ball, his face into the direction of the wall and he had pulled the grey blanket over his head.

 

“Is he sleeping?” Aramis asked quietly.

 

“Nah, he pretends to sleep, but he is wide awake and if you ask me scared … like we all are right now.” Softly he patted the shoulder of his ill friend.

 

“Hmmm …,” was the only reaction of Athos and he tried to hide even more under the blanket.

 

        Aramis sighed. Then he made a few steps to Porthos’ bed and sat on the corner of it. Slowly he reached his hand out and felt Athos’ forehead under the blanket. Athos could feel Aramis’ soft hand and he leant into the touch of his friend. His eyes were still closed and he could feel his heart beating in his chest. Again much too fast. He was so tired of this. He wished to feel better and not like a helpless child. That Porthos had to carry him into his room didn’t make it easier for him to brighten his mood.

 

“Athos, may I please check on you? I need to examine you. I need to see if this crazy false doctor has hurt you.”

 

        Silence. Aramis sighed out loud.

 

“Athos?”

 

“Hmm …”

 

“I really need to check on you. I want you to be alright!”

 

“I am so tired … of this!” Athos mumbled under Porthos’ blanket. “And as far as I know … I am …   _fine?”_ He said the word he didn’t want to use.

 

        He could imagine the surreptitious looks behind his back that Aramis and Porthos would be sharing by now and he expected Aramis saying “ _You are anything but fine, my friend! I know you are not. So stop pretending it.”_ But both Aramis and Porthos stayed quiet. Aramis shrugged and looked in the dim light at Porthos tired and worried face.

 

 _Let him be for a moment!_ Porthos’ glance told him.

 

        And so Aramis got up, sat on a chair he found in the room and the three of them listened to the dull noises in the garrison.

 

“Was that the man who poisoned me?” Athos suddenly asked very quietly with a thick voice under the blanket.

 

“I don’t know.” Aramis said.

 

“Who was that lunatic?” Porthos asked gruffly.

 

“His name is O’Sullivan. He calls himself a former soldier and medic. He is from Ireland and he has told me that he has lived for several years in France. So he speaks French fluently. He is trading with poisonous plants and says they can help to save lives in a small doses.”

 

        Athos snorted under the blanket.  

 

“You are kidding me, Aramis.” The swordsman said.

 

        Athos slowly pulled the blanket from his head and turned it into the direction of his two friends, but still kept his eyes closed. Aramis could see in the dim light Athos’ very pale face, a blue-greenish mark at his temple turning slowly yellow and the still slightly red scratch from the stone on his cheek. But the redness that had coloured his face the last days was gone.

 

“No, I am not. Can it be that you had something to do with this O’Sullivan? Maybe in your former life as the Comte de la Fère.”

 

“I don’t remember such a name!”

 

        Athos slowly started to open his eyes. They looked wet from the frustrated tears he had shared earlier.

 

“Could you see his face?” Porthos asked quietly.

 

        Looking for a cloth and some water in his spare room for Athos to clean his face. But he couldn’t see anything, he had taken all those items into Athos’ room.

 

        Athos snorted a bit louder:

 

“Seeing is not that easy for me right now. My vision is still blurred. So, no Porthos. But ...”

 

“But what?”

 

“He scared me!”

 

“I can imagine he has, he had you in a tough grip and wanted to give you laudanum He scared us too.” Aramis stated angrily.

 

“Oh yes, that too. No, he scared me with the words he said to me.” Athos added slowly.

 

“What did he say?” Porthos asked curiously.

 

“He touched me with his cold hands, my forehead, my chest, then he was picking on this nasty rash on my chest and afterwards he opened my mouth and checked it without my permission and then …” Athos stocked.

 

“And then?” Aramis asked softly laying his hand on Athos leg.

 

“Then he said that my symptoms would mean I was in the last turn of my illness and that death would come soon.”

 

“Bastard!” Porthos howled and gripped Athos’ shoulder more firmly.

 

“You my friend are on your road to recovery. If you allow me to check you over I can tell you that even better.” Aramis supported his friend.

 

        Athos looked through exhausted eyes at him.

 

“Can you please do it. I want to hear that I will be well again. I am so tired of being weak.”

 

Athos tried to hide his tears.

 

“Shhh …” Porthos squeezed his shoulder again and Aramis stood up.

 

“If I may.” Aramis asked and Athos nodded quietly his compliance.

 

“Lie on your back for me, please!” Aramis ordered and Athos sluggishly slumped his head into Porthos’ soft pillow.

 

        Aramis started his examination. He felt Athos’ forehead again:

 

“See, your fever is gone. Your forehead is still a bit warm, but it would be odd if it was very cold by now. This would worry me, but the warm feeling shows me that your fever has finally broken. This is a very good sign, my friend.” Aramis removed a few strands from Athos’ eyes.

 

“Alright, I will now check your chest.”

 

        He pulled the grey blanket from Athos’ upper body, lifted his shirt and looked at the red rash. Without touching it he declared.

 

“The honey seems to work. The rash is decreasing and the scarlet colour is slowly vanishing. Is it still itching, hurting or troubling you?” Aramis asked curiously.

 

“It has stopped bothering me after you put the honey salve on it, but it burned dreadfully when O’Sullivan touched it.”

 

“No wonder.” Aramis said softly. “It is still swollen, but much better. Now, I will check your pulse.” He felt Athos’ wrist and could feel a steady pulse. He smiled at Athos.

 

“Good news. Your pulse is better too.”

                                                                         

“And what about my heart?” Athos asked anxiously.

 

“Is it bothering you again?” Porthos asked cautiously.

 

“I … I don’t know, I have an odd feeling, some tightness in the left side of my chest. I don’t know how I shall describe it. My heart is fluttering and then pounding very hard, but now and then it stops. Something is not right, Aramis.”

 

        Aramis let his hand rest on Athos’ chest where Athos’ heart was still beating too fast for his liking.

 

“I think it is caused by the poison, but it will get better. Just do those breathing exercises when you have this feeling in your chest and tell me or the others.”

 

        He paused, guilty that none of them had been there as the crazy Irish man had tried to poison Athos with laudanum.

 

“I will.” Athos said sluggishly. He still felt very weak and exhausted and the talk had exhausted him.

 

“All in all I can see that your breathing is back to normal, you can speak more easily again. Ah, let me check your eyes.” Aramis looked in both of his eyes.

 

“I am still seeing you blurry!” Athos told him.

 

“Yes, because your pupils are still enlarged, but they are better than before. So in my opinion you have beaten this stupid poison. No need to worry.” He smiled at Athos and softly pressed his hand.

 

“I was hungry earlier. That’s why I asked d’Artagnan to fetch me one of Serge’s delicious soups and another apple. You said that an apple would be good for me, Aramis.”

 

“See this is another sign that you are getting better. Are you still hungry?”

 

“Yes, I am.” Athos sighed relieved.

 

“So …” Porthos was interrupted by a knock at the door and his hand went back to his pistol.

 

“Come in!" He shouted.

   

        Tréville opened the door.

 

“No need to shoot me Porthos! Athos ...?”

 

        Captain Tréville came nearer and scanned Athos’ weak figure.

 

“A little better, Captain.” His mouth formed a slight smile that only stayed for a few seconds and then vanished again.

 

“That’s good to hear. Alas, I had to let O’Sullivan go, but I will have a closer look at him, I will make sure that he does not come near you again. I have to apologise to you Athos.”

 

“Why?” Athos looked puzzled.

 

“Because I didn’t instruct the guards not to let any strangers into your room.”

 

“I am …” Athos stopped he couldn’t say the word, not now he couldn’t. “I am better.”

 

        He blinked several times to look into his Captain’s eyes.

 

“How did he manage to come into my room?” He asked changing the topic.

 

“He had a letter from Dr. Lemay allowing him to check you over but he didn’t come to me first.” Athos could hear the anger in his Captain’s voice.

 

“Do you think he is …” Athos stopped.

 

“Athos, I don’t know. But we will find out.” Tréville looked at his men. “Alright, we have work to do!”

 

        Porthos looked up:

 

“Oh yeah, I had totally forgotten, palace guard for me.”

 

“Yes, but first we have to change our security protocol.” Tréville told them.

 

“Our what?” Aramis asked confused.

 

“I think it is better if Athos doesn’t stay in the barrack’s. Even with guards someone could climb through a window.” Tréville explained patiently.

 

“I don’t want to go into the infirmary.” Athos groaned. “I hated that years ago. I can’t relax there.”

 

“I have already thought about that problem. You, Lieutenant, will come with me.” Tréville ordered in a firm tone.

 

“What?” Athos was confused.

 

“I have paperwork to do all afternoon long. You can rest in the bed at my office.” Athos looked critically at his commanding officer.

 

        Tréville had thought what he could do to calm his Lieutenant. He needed rest, but he needed Porthos and Aramis to continue their research now more than ever. The fact that  this false doctor could so easily appear in Athos’ room worried him. Someone was watching them, lurking in the dark and he wanted to have an eye on his still bedridden soldier. So he came up with this plan, well aware that Athos wouldn’t like it.

 

“I can go back into my room. This time the guards will know …” Athos was stopped by Aramis.

 

“No, you will not go back there! At least not now, I think the idea of the Captain is excellent.”

 

        Athos rolled his tired eyes.

 

“Porthos can you fetch the stretcher, please?” Tréville asked.

 

“No way are you going to carry me on that thing!” Athos exclaimed. “I am tired of feeling so helpless. If I have no choice, at least I will walk there on my own.” Athos answered stubbornly. “Besides Porthos you have to rest your thigh.”

 

“You are still very weak Athos. I am not sure …”

 

        Aramis started, but was stopped, as Athos slowly, very slowly straightened himself up in Porthos’ bed. With all the strength he had left in his weak body Athos tried to stand up. In the end it was with Aramis on one side and Tréville on the other side helping their invalid Lieutenant to leave the quarters of the Musketeers. They had wrapped him in Porthos’ grey blanket and together they had managed to take him to Tréville’s office. The first steps had been easy for Athos, but he soon felt dizzy, exhausted, his heart began to pound again, he was sweating heavily and he leaned on both men more and more. Porthos wanted to help but a _don’t-you-dare_ stare from the former Comte told him to leave him alone and to rest his leg. As they put him on Tréville’s bed Athos fell groggily onto the pillow and seconds later he was fast asleep, breathing deeply.

 

“Let him rest for a while, but make him eat.”

 

        Aramis said after checking Athos’ heartbeat one last time, resting his hand on Athos’ chest a bit longer until he could feel that it had slowed down again.    


	25. Tie and Straw, Poles and Apples

⚔⚔

  
  


        Aramis bolted out of the room and stopped, leaning over the rail of the balcony. He needed to breathe deeply before looking for that stupid boy. He had managed to contain his anxiety and his need to shout at his young friend during his examination, but now … now ... His hands tightened their grip on the wood, enough to leave the semi-circular prints of his fingernails in the old wood. He breathed out with a whistling sound. He was boiling with rage and he knew that this anger was thoughtless.  _ Head over heart, _ Athos would say. And the mere thought of the rumbling deep voice reignited his rage. Why had d’Artagnan left him without a second thought? Childish behaviour!  He let his eyes wander around the courtyard. The garrison was, as usual, like a noisy hive, but he couldn’t find the missing bee. He ran down the stairs and passed a young cadet who was carrying a saddle.

 

“Jeannot, have you seen d’Artagnan lately?” He shouted.

 

“No, Sir, but I know that the Captain sent him to the palace earlier.”

 

Aramis crossed the courtyard towards the stables. He let his eyes become used to the dim light, listened to the sounds of hooves, metal and the loud breathing of the horses. Slowly, he went along the boxes, the straw crunching under his boots. The air was heavy with the odours and the steam emanating from the horses.

 

D’Artagnan’s horse was there and claimed a treat shaking his shiny ebony mane. 

 

“Shhh. Alright, take this apple.” Aramis smiled holding a fruit under the horse’s sharp teeth. 

He scratched the velvety muzzle asking:

“Where is your rider?” 

 

        The horse shook his mane again nuzzling Aramis’ hand.

 

“Alright, you don’t want to answer.”

 

        Aramis’ anger seemed to fade a little in the dim light, the smell of the beasts and the soft deep eyes looking at him expectantly.

 

“No, no more apples, big boy.”

 

        Aramis left the black stallion and continued towards the end of the corridor where hay stacks were stored. And there, between two bales, he saw the crown of a black head. He had to speak, he had to let his rage leave his stressed body. He sucked in a deep breath.

 

“What were you thinking? Leaving him alone like that? Are you stupid? Can’t you just use that head on your shoulders? I … You know he is weak … You know he can’t fight … You … I …!”

 

The lack of reaction from the young man increased his rage. He flung himself at the slim figure. He caught him by the lapels of his jacket, hoisted him onto his feet and pushed him against the far wall of the room. Blinded by his rage he spluttered all the words crossing his mind, shouting, stammering.

 

“You idiot! Do you realise that that man could have killed him. And you? ... You? ... What were you doing? ... You were wandering in the garrison? What for? Can you tell me? ... Yes, I know … He asked you for something to eat. But … But you could have waited! No? You could have waited for one of us to come back! ... Why don’t you answer?! ... Speak!” He finished in a cry, breathless.

 

“I …”

 

“You what?!” Aramis shouted tightening his grip on the leather.

 

        D’Artagnan sighed. His eyes were shining in the dim light and his lower lip was caught between his teeth. He weakly disentangled himself from the grip of his furious friend. Aramis, taken aback by the lack of reaction and the pale face, let him move.

 

“What is it? What are you hiding?” He asked in a softened voice. 

 

“Nothing.” D’Artagnan’s voice was barely a whisper.

 

“Show me.” Aramis asked, all his rage having left him at the sight of his young friend’s sad expression.

 

        D’Artagnan gave him the crumpled sheet of paper.

 

“It’s a letter from Lemay … the … note … it was really by his hand …”

 

        Suddenly, all the rage left Aramis’ body. He felt so tired, so helpless and so … sorry. 

 

“I am … I am …” He tried.

 

        D’Artagnan slid against the wall. He sat there with his arms around his bent legs, his forehead on his knees, his long hair a silky curtain hiding his face. Aramis watched him for a while, then he went to the wall and sat next to the young man. The massive bales didn’t allow the smallest space between them.

 

“I am … I … I’m sorry, d’Artagnan.” Aramis whispered.

 

        A sniffle emerged from the human bundle at his side, but no words.

 

“I know, I shouldn’t have let my emotions overwhelm me. But you know … I … I am scared … I still ...” Aramis continued.

 

        He nudged d’Artagnan’s shoulder with his.

 

“He ... er … rt” A muffled voice said.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Head over heart.” D’Artagnan repeated raising his head and pressing the palm of his hands on his bleary eyes.

 

        A few seconds later, he turned to Aramis. 

 

“I understand.” He murmured. “Apologies accepted … You know, I am so scared too … We could have lost him … We still can …?”

 

        His chocolate irises sought his friends eyes. 

 

“I … I don’t know. I wish I could say no, but I don’t know, really …” Aramis stopped, deep in thought. “But, no, I think he is better, a lot better, he will be fine.” He tried to reassure him.

 

        D’Artagnan didn’t answer but suddenly he held his right hand to his older brother. 

 

“Sorry. Sorry for my mistake.” He murmured.

 

        Aramis took the proffered hand in his left and squeezed it. Then he stood up and keeping his hold on the young man’s fingers, he pulled him up onto his feet. They stood like that, face to face for a moment, then Aramis reached his free hand out to remove a straw from the ebony hair.

 

“People might talk!” He laughed, earning a kick on the shin from an equally laughing d’Artagnan.

 

“Come on, little brother! Let’s go and see our grumpy hero, but first kitchen!”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_In the meantime in Tréville’s office_ **

 

“.... Yes … alone! She forgot me in that attic! Alone, tied to that damned pole.” Porthos laughed.

 

“Alone? For how long?” Athos asked.

 

        He was smiling, a tired smile, a trembling smile, but a smile. Porthos had tried to brighten his mood since Aramis had left the room visibly radiating fury.

 

“I don’t know. Following my stomach, I would say, at least five hours.”

 

        A snort came from the bed.

 

“What?” Porthos frowned. 

 

“Are you sure this adventure didn’t happen to Aramis? It’s more his type.” Athos said a smile in his low voice. 

 

“Wh … Oh, I see!” Porthos laughed, slapping his thigh and regretting it at once as it was his injured limb. “But I was five years old or something, and it was a game, I was the thief and she was the royal guard. I guess Aramis experienced it much later … I mean … Being tied by a ... lady, and it’s not the same kind of game!”

 

“Porthos you are incorrigible.” Tréville laughed. “And when did she realise that she had forgotten her prisoner?”

 

“Never. Someone found me.”

 

        Porthos suddenly stopped talking and gingerly stood up. He went, limping slightly, to the window, turning his back to the others who didn’t dare to ask him what he had in mind, why his face had so suddenly clouded.   Porthos had hidden his very upset, confused and angry feeling behind his humour, but it was just a “façade” and now, his anxiety had come back at the mere mention of Aramis’ name. Porthos’ tired mind needed this short moment to clarify his thoughts and feelings, and, at last, he could show again his bright smile to his friends. They all turned simultaneously towards the door as they heard footsteps and voices outside. Porthos instantly reached for his pistol but Athos held a hand up.

 

“Aramis and d’Artagnan.” He said quietly.

 

“Not sure they would laugh like that together ...”

 

“You know them, big children, arguing one moment and laughing together the next minute.” Tréville laughed.

 

        The door swung open and the faces full of hilarity of their friends carrying a tray and a basket appeared. Aramis poked d’Artagnan’s ribs with his elbow making him almost drop the tray with the bowl of broth.

 

“D’Artagnan!” Aramis chided. “Why do you want to feed the floor instead of Athos every time you bring him food?”

 

“Funny.” D’Artagnan grumbled his smile sobering a little as he remembered why he had dropped the previous bowl.

 

“Children!” Tréville barked. “Behave!”

 

“Yes, Captain.” The two musketeers replied sheepishly. 

 

        Leaving his basket of fruits and bread on the table, Aramis turned to Athos.

 

“How are you my friend? You look better.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine? And?” Aramis asked with a frown. 

 

“And nothing? Really fine for the first time in days. Exhausted, my body is sore as if I had fought a whole army and … I … I am hungry. So …” 

 

“ _ C’est une bonne maladie.* _ You are finally on the mend.” Aramis replied relieved.

 

        D’Artagnan approached the bed eagerly, the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other one. 

 

“Do you need ... help?” Aramis asked cautiously. “You know … to … because you are … still ...”

 

        And he received this famous look they had missed these past days with a:

 

“Aramis, please.” In a deep noble voice.

 

“Alright, I surrender, Athos, but there is no shame in asking.” 

 

“Alright. This smelly food reminds me that I can’t remember my last meal.” Tréville announced.

 

“Feel free to share, Captain.” Athos offered.

 

“Mmhhh, no, thank you … I need something more … substantial. And the same goes for you Porthos, and Aramis, d’Artagnan, I trust you not to forget your own health and to eat something later.”

 

“Yes, Captain.” A chorus of voices answered.

 

“Come on Porthos, we have some work to do.” Tréville called before turning to the door, a relieved smile on his lips.  

 

        They left, more carefree than a few hours earlier.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Porthos left the garrison with a very upset, confused and angry feeling. He had talked with Tréville during lunch about the King’s plans and he could sense that Tréville was still struggling to find a way to protect Athos. Somehow they needed to find a way to stop this whole insanity. He let his mind drift off to what had happened earlier, while riding on his horse to the palace. He wasn’t upset about d’Artagnan like Aramis had been. His reaction seemed so disproportionate. He could easily imagine that Athos had asked the young Gascon to go and fetch him something to calm his hunger. On the one hand he was glad to be finally alone for some minutes, he hadn’t had his privacy for several days now, and his brother needed the loneliness from time to time to gather himself. On the other hand he must have been really hungry and sending d’Artagnan made Athos sure that his food wouldn’t be poisoned. The swordsman’s rational thinking was coming back and Porthos stopped his horse and smiled as the realisation hit him. A big smile formed on his face. But he was still worried. Had this false doctor really acted by order of Lemay and was this all a huge misunderstanding? Did O’Sullivan just want to help. He had seen the former soldier the day before at court. He was fascinated by his knowledge about plants and that they could cure illnesses. The question still remained. Had O’Sullivan a connection to Gallagher? Or to Athos’ past as a Comte or was the real perpetrator the Duke of Savoy?

 

_ He mustn’t fight against the Duke it will kill him! _

 

        He heard Aramis’ warning voice in his mind as he entered the first gate of the palace. He wasn’t sure what he could find out about O’Sullivan but Porthos had come to the conclusion that he needed to talk to the Duke. He would go to him after palace guard and ask him to fight against him on Friday and if the Duke denied his proposal, he would challenge him to a duel. This way the Duke wouldn’t lose his face and Athos would be safe.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

 

**_Tréville’s office_ **

 

        Tréville’s office became silent again after their Captain had left with Porthos. They could only hear the scratching noises of the spoon and the slow and laborious swallowings of Athos. Aramis cut an apple in thin slices then looked at Athos whose hands had begun to tremble again. D’Artagnan was staring anxiously at his friend, ready to intervene. 

 

“S … sorry … I can’t.” Athos whispered handing the bowl over to d’Artagnan who had jumped to his side instantly. 

 

        Aramis went to the bed.

 

“What’s the matter, Athos?” Aramis asked softly sitting down next to him on the mattress.

 

“It … hurts … and I don’t think … I …”

 

“What hurts, Athos?” D’Artagnan asked sitting at the foot of the bed.

 

“My stomach … I am … sorry … I can’t take …”

 

“It’s normal,” Aramis reassured him. “Your stomach isn’t used to this food. We have accustomed your noble organ to honey and water for days, so carrots … you know … are not … delicate enough.” 

 

        Athos curled on himself and wrapped his arms around his body.

 

“I am sorry …” He mumbled.

 

        Aramis put a hand on his neck. 

 

“Shhh … You will be fine. Take your time, rest, we will try again later.”

 

        They heard a sniffle from behind the curly hair and Aramis let his hand linger on the trembling neck and d’Artagnan squeezed Athos’ ankle. They waited for a moment, no one daring to move. Then, feeling the body relaxing a little under his hand, as the cramps subsided, Aramis said:

 

“You know what Athos?” He said running his fingers through the thick matted locks. “This beautiful curly hair needs to meet water, soap and scissors very soon.”

 

        Suddenly, Athos’ body shook. They watched anxiously until he raised his face which was brightened by a large smile. He shook his head to dislodge the invasive hand.

 

“I think I could eat a little bit of this apple now, Aramis, please.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Le Louvre_ **

 

        Palace guard was as boring as ever. Porthos looked at Henri who tried to hide a yawn. Porthos was still trying to figure out what was the best way to approach the Duke of Savoy when the Duke himself suddenly spoke to the King. Rochefort had just finished revealing one of his ideas about the trade summit. Porthos had been too bored to really listen to his high noisy voice.

 

“Excuse me, your Majesty, I have thought about your proposal from earlier that day, that I should duel with the Musketeer Athos on Friday.”

 

“What is it, do you fear that he will beat you again?”

 

“I doubt that. I think that the illness will make him weak. So it wouldn’t be a challenge for me.”

 

“So, what do you propose? Captain Tréville has offered to fight against you.”

 

“Well, last year I dueled with a Musketeer and we found out that your Musketeers are very good. This year, I think it would be an honour for me to find out how good your Red Guards are.”

 

        Louis smiled and turned to his brother-in-law.

 

“I agree with you this is an even much better idea!” He shouted out loud and clapped his hands.

 

“And to fulfill the challenge I would propose fighting against the Captain of the Red Guards himself. He must be the best fighter, otherwise he wouldn’t be your Captain.”

 

        Rochefort’s eyes went cold as ice as he turned to the Duke. But he didn’t say anything. He hadn’t expected that. He had to admit to himself that he didn’t know that much about the Duke of Savoy. He had underestimated him.

 

“Ha ha, Rochefort! My brother-in-law wants to duel with you. What a joy. You must fight against him. He is so right, this will be much more exciting.” King Louis looked into the unimpressed  face of the Comte who slightly bowed.

 

“As you wish, your Majesty, I will be delighted to show you my sword skills. But wouldn’t it be amazing to let Athos watch the whole spectacle.” He asked. “So he can see that he is not the only good swordsman.”

 

“Rochefort, I am sure that he will be happy to see you fighting. He will serve as a palace guard that day.” The King decided. “I will let Tréville know.” He finished.

 

        Porthos couldn’t believe it. At least Athos now was saved this humiliation from Rochefort. This Duke of Savoy really astonished him. But was that only a trick to sidetrack that he was behind the attack against Athos. This false doctor had been here for several days. They could have easily met before and talked about poisonous plants. Nevertheless Porthos was relieved that he hadn’t needed to push the Duke for a duel. As much as he would have loved to do it and to fight against him, he was responsible for the death of twenty Musketeers, Tréville would have been furious at him. Better not to be confrontational right now. He still wanted answers from Tréville about his father and the less angry he would be about him, the better were his chances to find a quiet moment and to ask him his burning questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'est une bonne maladie (French expression) : It's a good disease. If the patient eats, it means that he is recovering. Being hungry is a good sign.


	26. I need to help

⚔⚔

  
  


        Milady was in the mood to kill someone. Why? She wasn’t sure about that. Oh yes, she was: someone had tried to kill her husband, and beside her no one should be allowed to commit such a horrible crime. She had observed the athletic Irish soldier riding away on his horse. A handsome man this O’Sullivan, but a secret and intriguing man.

 

_ Can it be, that you have known Gallagher? _

_ Have you found out that Athos had to kill him in order to protect the Queen? _

_ Does he know that I employed Gallagher by the order of the Cardinal? _

_ What are your real plans? _

_ I doubt that you have come here to make a fortune with your plants, every common woman in the Cour des Miracles knows more about the healing functions of these plants than you! _

 

        One thing was sure, his whole behaviour was odd. From the first day he had appeared at the palace several weeks before, watching everyone and everything. He had been very interested in the illnesses of the two court ladies who were bedridden. She needed answers and so she returned to O’Sullivans room.

        After checking his few belongings which laid on his desk, she opened the secret door to the other room. This morning when she had disturbed Aramis checking  on his quarters, there had been some books lying on the floor. Now those books were gone.

        She left the spare and small room and looked around. Then she went to O’Sullivan’s bed. Under the white pillow she could see an object hidden between the pillow sheets. She observed it closer. O’Sullivan had hidden the books here. Curious about what she might find, she checked the first book. It was a book about plants written in English. The second book was a novel about a Roman emperor. She went to put it away again as several sheets of paper fell out of it on the floor.

        She kneeled to have a better look. It was not only some notes, but two letters, one was a letter from Gallagher informing his friend O’Sullivan that he would come to France again, in which he asked to meet in Paris. It had been written one year ago. The other one was from a stranger informing O’Sullivan that their mutual comrade had been killed by a French Musketeer.

        She whistled through her teeth.

 

_ So you knew Gallagher? Maybe you even served with him as a soldier? And now what? _

 

        She went over to the desk looked for ink and paper and copied both notes with her own hand. Then she put the two letters back in the book and left the room. She needed to find Aramis and to warn him.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Aramis wanted answers. After Tréville had returned, he had told the young Gascon to sleep and rest. They would need someone awake the whole night at Athos’ side and he was sure that d’Artagnan wouldn’t leave his mentor on his own a second time.

 

_ What now? _ He sighed. 

 

        He was too restless to go into his own room and sleep there. He needed to do something. If O’Sullivan was really behind the attack on Athos, maybe he had not only poisoned him, but this court lady, Marguerite had told him about this morning. Her symptoms looked more like Athos’ poisoning than the symptoms of the flu. So Aramis decided to check the morgue of Paris. They would have brought her there. Usually the bodies of noblemen and noblewomen would have been brought to a room at the palace, instead of the unworthy city morgue, that was hidden in a cave system near the Seine, but with an infectious disease like the flu Dr. Lemay had ordered to bring her body to that place. He was sure about it. The risk of infection was too high.  

        Twenty minutes later he knocked at the door and an old priest opened. After he had explained who he wanted to see the old man ushered him slowly into the dark cave where the dead bodies were laid out. Aramis followed the priest to the farest corner of the cave, where the infectious bodies were laid.

        The priest lifted a grey fabric that once had been white. Under it he could see the corpse of the once so beautiful and lovely young lady-in-waiting. Silently, he prayed for her soul, before taking a closer look. Her face and lips were bluish, her mouth scarlet. He lifted the sheet a bit more to find a red rash on her body but he couldn’t find one.

 

“Somehow I knew I would find you here!” Aramis, deep in thought, was startled. But he answered fast with a snappy sentence.

 

“It seems that I am your type after all. This is the second time you have followed me today.” He looked into the green eyes of Milady.

 

“Are you checking if the Spanish girl was poisoned too?”

 

“I thought she had the flu, but this morning Marguerite mentioned to me that she had other symptoms. That started me thinking about the possibility, but why should someone poison her?” He asked more to himself than to Milady.

 

“Maybe she witnessed him poisoning Athos?” She mused.

 

“I doubt that! She was not near him as Athos was poisoned.”

 

“How has he been poisoned?” Milady wanted to know.

 

        So Aramis sat down with her on the stone steps leading to the morgue and told her. Milady wearing a green-black dress had no problems to sit next to him. She was a warrior in a fine lady’s costume.

 

“I expected to find a similar red rash on her body, but nothing.”

 

        Aramis concluded his summary of the events of the past days. He had left out that O’Sullivan had checked on Athos and he had not mentioned that Athos was on the mend. He  was still not sure what this evil poison could do to Athos’ body. Even if he was positive that Athos would fight it, he didn’t want to talk about this with Milady.

 

“Aramis you forget that you can be poisoned by eating or drinking the fruit of the plant or the the juice of its fruit. O’Sullivan could easily have given her something to eat and drink. It tastes bitter, but maybe she had blamed a cold or the flu for the bitter taste in her mouth.”

 

“So you agree with me that she has been poisoned too?” Aramis asked her.

 

“Seeing her dead body and knowing how most of the poisons work, I think she has been poisoned. Perhaps by O’Sullivan. He has the knowledge and …” She paused to search for the copy of the two letters she made earlier.

 

“And?”

 

“Here, I have searched O’Sullivans quarter’s a second time. I have found two letters hidden in one of his books. They are written in English. But they prove that he knew Gallagher, they probably served together in the same regiment. One letter is from Gallagher asking to meet him in Paris. The other one from another man, informing him, that Gallagher was killed by a Musketeer, but no name is mentioned.” She told him.

 

        Aramis nervously ran his hand through his hair.

  
“This could be the proof that O’Sullivan is the perpetrator, but I cannot go to the King and tell him that I have checked his quarters. There are still some open questions we have to answer before we can accuse him. We have to watch him further.”

 

        Aramis jumped to his feet.

 

“May I show these letters to Tréville?” He asked.

 

“Yes, of course. I will try to find out more about the real reasons why he is here in France.”

 

“Thank you!”

 

        Aramis wanted to go.

 

“Aramis, is he better?”

 

“Well … I … I don’t know that much about the poison, but he is a fighter.”

 

        Milady got up too. They both said their goodbyes and Aramis hurried back to the garrison, while Milady tried to figure out how to find out more about the mysterious Irish soldier.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Captain Tréville returned to his office in a better mood, after his late lunch and after having spent some time in the stables to calm himself. He thanked Aramis and d’Artagnan and let them finally leave his office. His Lieutenant was asleep and so he decided to work a bit. Now and then he had to stop and settle his own nerves, while he was listening to the the deep breathing of Athos.

 

_ I have to find a way how I can spare you this duel against the Duke of Savoy? _

_ And I need answers. Who is this O’Sullivan? _

_ What reason would he have to try to kill you? I have to ask you. Later. _

 

        Tréville massaged his head and neck. He always had headaches when Aramis did stupid things, when the King was insane or when he hadn’t slept enough. Today, he was sure, it was a combination of all: the worry about Athos’ state of health and an intriguing Rochefort who made his work more complicated and harder from day to day.

        He sighed loudly and continued studying his notes. Two days left until the big trade summit and after that he hoped that they would have a few less busy days. At least the weather started to get better. He was just dividing the plan for palace guard during the trade summit as a loud cry from Athos made him jump onto his feet. His hand at his pistol, which he had positioned next to him.

 

_ Aramis, what have you done? _ _  
_ _ Are you mad? _

_ Why?!? _

_ We are under attack … _

_ We can’t protect the Queen much longer … _

_ We have no ammunition left. _

_ Wait here, Aramis. Protect the Queen. _

_ I will go and catch this Gallagher. _

_ He will pay for this. _

_ Everything will be fine Aramis! Don’t worry. I will always be there for you. _

_ Always … _

_ Nooooooooo … _

 

“Noooo!” Athos shouted this time a bit lower. 

 

        A nightmare had gripped the young man. Tréville went over to Athos, sat down on a chair next to the bed and tried to calm him.

 

“Shhh ...” Tréville soothed, but Athos was trapped in his bad dream. He started to slap with his hands and his body started to tremble.

 

“No, Aramis … stay here … someone has to protect …”

 

        Tréville tried it again, Athos’ hands in his:

 

“Shhh … Athos, you are having a bad dream.”

 

“You are an … idiot, Aramis!” Athos screamed. “Nooo! … Stay …! Wait for help …!”

 

“Athos, wake up!” 

 

        Tréville ordered him, as Athos started to shake even more. His face was covered in sweat and his breathing became agitated, harsh and he struggled to free himself from Tréville’s hands.

 

“Gallagher … you have to pay for this … you are …”

 

“Athos! Calm!” Tréville laid his hand on Athos’ shoulder and shook him slightly. “Wake up, son. You are having a nightmare!”

 

        Athos sluggishly opened his eyes. His vision was still blurred and he needed some time to figure out where he was. He noticed Tréville sitting next to him and sighed loudly.

 

“It is alright, you had a bad dream.”

 

        Confused, Athos blinked his eyes. He remembered. He had dreamt of the Convent, the night Aramis had slept with … and the fight with Gallagher. 

 

_ Another stupid suicide mission. Have I said something about Aramis. Oh no, this can’t be true. Does Tréville know? _

 

        Athos’ breathing became deeper and his heart started to beat in his chest again. He tried to catch more air. Tréville who had noticed that something had agitated Athos helped him into a sitting position.

 

“Easy, breathe with me. Calm down! You are safe!”

 

        Athos followed his instructions and he calmed down a little.

 

“Do you know where you are?” Tréville asked quietly.

 

“In your ... office.” Athos answered a bit irritated and still gasping for air.

 

“It’s good that you can remember that. You had a nightmare I think about that mercenary Gallagher.” Tréville explained to him. “No wonder, maybe you have linked the incident with O’Sullivan today with that day at the Convent, when he and his men tried to kill the Queen.”

 

        Athos looked anxiously at Tréville.

 

“Did I say something … something odd?”

 

“You have called Aramis a fool, but from time to time I think the same about him. So no worries, he is not here and I will not tell him, so he won’t be angry.” He smiled at Athos.

 

        His officer seemed to relax a little more. Tréville stood up and poured some water in a glass, mixed it with honey and gave it to Athos.

 

“Here, drink! It will help you to settle your nerves.” 

 

        Athos gladly accepted the cool drink and he soon felt the cold liquid cooling his throat.

 

“Do you think you are up to talking with me?” 

 

        Tréville asked his Lieutenant well aware that Athos felt uncomfortable lying in his office. He had to occupy him with some other stuff and he hoped for some answers about a possible connection between Gallagher, O’Sullivan and Athos. Something which could be a link or proof that O’Sullivan was the perpetrator.

 

“Sure!” Athos weakly smiled. “ I won’t be able to sleep right now.”

 

“I was wondering if there could be a connection between O’Sullivan and Gallagher. Maybe he was one of the men who had attacked the Convent last year. Could it be that he was with Gallagher, but that he escaped?” Tréville asked Athos.

 

        Athos closed his eyes. He tried to remember.

 

“It’s hard for me to tell. I haven’t seen O’Sullivan clearly enough. Maybe you can give me a short description. What I am sure of is that I don’t recall his voice.”

 

        Tréville described O’Sullivan.

 

“I am not sure. Your description fits with a lot of soldiers. I am sorry. Maybe you can ask Aramis, if you haven’t already done so. He was with me and fought against those men and as our marksman he has the better eyes for such details.”

 

        Tréville had to grin inwardly. Athos was a good observer too, but of course he downplayed his own abilities.

 

“I will ask Aramis!”

 

“Well, assuming that O’Sullivan and Gallagher were both attacking us that day. How does he know that I had to kill Gallagher? It could have been Aramis as well. The foreign soldiers, who were in the Convent had already flown, as you appeared.”

 

“Maybe he has started his own inquiries and he had received this information from some Red Guards or documents from the Cardinal, or Rochefort …” Tréville stopped.

 

        Athos had a strange look in his eyes.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Nothing!” Athos mumbled. 

 

        He tried to push the bad thoughts away that hit him again hard as he heard the mention of Rochefort’s name. Dreaming about this whole incident from five years ago had taken his toll on his emotional state lately. To prevent Tréville from asking any further questions he came up with an idea.

 

“Which day is today?” He asked.

 

“Wednesday. Why?” 

 

        Athos calculated:

 

“Maybe I will be fit enough in two days to join you at the trade summit, then I can, if my eyes are hopefully better, have a closer look at O’Sullivan and tell you if he had been with Gallagher at the Covenant.”  

 

        Tréville sighed.

 

“Athos, you still need rest. Your body needs rest. I will ask Aramis, but I don’t think that it is a wise decision for you to investigate on your own. You are still very weak.”

 

Athos sighed frustrated and let his head drop on the soft pillow.

 

“I need to help somehow.” He mumbled.

 

“You can and you will, but right now, it is the best for you to rest. Try to sleep a bit more.” Tréville said softly, as he noticed the exhaustion on Athos’ face. 

 

        Athos had closed his eyes and he fell into another and this time, more restful sleep. Tréville pulled his blanket higher, tucked it neatly over his shoulders and rested a hand protectively on Athos right shoulder. Several minutes later he could hear Athos deep, but even breathing. 

 

_ Get well my son! _

 

        Tréville stood up, stretched himself. He went back to his desk.

 

_ I have to talk with the others without Athos. _

_ We have to discuss what we can do against the King’s order and I have to know what they have found out about Milady, the Duke of Savoy and O’Sullivan. But how? We can’t leave Athos alone and if he finds out about the King’s order it will upset him.  _

 

        An idea formed in his mind. 

 

_ This can work. When we discuss in front of my office at the balcony. No one can cross our path without us noticing and Athos can sleep and rest a little longer. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Three hours later_ **

 

        Aramis had returned to the garrison deep in thought. Was Milady playing games with him? Was she following him or had she simply concluded the same leads as him? He wasn’t sure. His instincts told him that Milady wasn’t the perpetrator and somehow he was glad that she had appeared and was helping him by finding out who did this dreadful deed to Athos.

        Nevertheless he knew that he would never tell Athos about his interaction with _Milady de Winter_ as she now called herself at the court. He had seen Athos’ facial expression that day as they ran into her in the forest as they were searching for the King and d’Artagnan. 

        He had needed all his willpower and strength to gather himself, and he had stepped back and it was him, Aramis, who had to take over the lead. A very rare moment. Usually Athos knew how to act, what to say, which order needed to be given but she had brought so much sadness to his life that it nearly killed him six years ago and he still was not over with her yet.

 

_ No Athos, I won’t tell you that Milady is interfering in this whole investigation. Thinking of her is not good for you right now. _

 

        Aramis looked around in the courtyard. He could see d’Artagnan and Porthos sitting at their favourite bench while giving some orders to their new recruits who were busy clearing the stables. Around him he could hear the horses, some birds were tweeting and a dog barked in the distance. He went over to his friends, grabbed a cup, filled it with water and enjoyed a good gulp.

 

“I have news, but first I will check on our patient?” 

 

        He didn’t ask if they already did. He needed to be sure for himself that Athos was on his road to recovery.

 

“We will wait here for you.” Porthos nodded understandingly while d’Artagnan shouted:

 

“No, Pierre, you still need to check if there is enough water for the horses in the drinking trough.” 

 

        He turned his head to Aramis:

 

“Sorry, what did you just say?” 

 

        But Aramis was already climbing the first steps of the stairs leading to Captain Tréville’s office.

 

“He is checking on Athos and then he will come back. He has news for us, so do I. I think it’s best when we share it together.” Porthos explained. 

 

        D’Artagnan nodded.

 

“Shall I get us something else to eat?”

 

“Wait ‘til Aramis is back, then we can decide.” Porthos told him.

 

        Aramis knocked briefly at Tréville’s door. Instead of a barked “Come in” he heard soft footsteps approaching the door. Tréville opened it, pistol in his hand, which he put down, as he saw Aramis.

 

“I have to get used to being greeted like this.” 

 

        Aramis grinned, trying to look into the Captain’s office but Tréville stepped out on the balcony, closing quietly the door.

 

“Athos is sleeping right now. He had another nightmare earlier, but now he is sleeping more calmly, his fever is still low, his pulse is better and his breathing has settled again. We need to talk, Aramis.” Tréville added.

 

“Yes, we do, let me check first on our sleeping Comte. D’Artagnan and Porthos are sitting downstairs on our usual bench, I can fetch them in a few minutes.”

 

“We need to talk without Athos listening.” Tréville explained. “Why don’t you check on Athos and in the meantime I’ll go and ask the others to come. We can stay in front of my door and speak there. Then we can be sure that no one can pass this door without us noticing.” 

 

        Aramis was a bit astonished that the Captain was offering to call the others himself. But maybe he needed to walk a bit and on the other hand when it came to Athos he was always softer than to other Musketeers.

 

        Aramis took off his hat as he quietly entered the room. He could hear Athos’ soft breathing. He slowly made it to the Captain’s bed and laid his sword on the table next to him. His eyes started to check on Athos. He could see the still too white face, the blistered lips. There was still some sweat resting on his forehead, but it was less than before. Athos didn’t move as Aramis gently took a washcloth to wipe it away, he was fast asleep, no nightmare this time. Aramis bent over his mouth and noticed that he was breathing more evenly, then he rested his hand on Athos’ chest.  _ Finally. _ He breathed out deeply, Athos’ heartbeat was normal again. He sent a quick prayer to God thanking him for this good sign. Then he smoothed the thick blanket Athos was covered with and stood up. 

 

“Rest Athos! Your body needs it!” 

 

        He quietly said to his friend and left the room, leaving his pistol and sword on the table next to Athos’ bed.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

 

**_In the meantime at the palace_ **

 

        The dark figure was angry, slowly pacing from one side to the other of the spare room, which had been assigned to it. Outside the sun was burning on the white stones, a peacock screeched in the King’s gardens and sounded like a fighting cat, but the occupant of the room ignored these signs of late spring. Outside it could be getting warmer, inside the room and the mood of the perpetrator were ice cold.

 

_ Athos is still alive. _

_ How many lives does this unworthy Comte have? _

_ And he has guards everywhere. _

_ His friends are protecting him around the clock. _

_ Why couldn’t he just die like the woman? _

_ She simply swallowed the whole juice and it only took one day … _

_ Trying my mixture on her was a brilliant idea. But maybe she was too frail. Athos is stronger. Or the poison the seamstress injected him was a smaller dose … I should have done it myself ...  _

_ Anyway this Dr. Lemay is such a fool. He hasn’t seen any sign of poisoning. _

_ Better for me. _

_ They are all so naive. _

_ Nobody will ever know! Nobody never knows! _

_ Athos … your days are numbered. _

_ You will suffer for your sins, Athos! _

_ You will never ever  humiliate me again. _

_ You will never be able to draw and fight with a sword again. _

_ Oh your pain will be much worse than before! _

_ Soon the Comte de la Fère won’t be anymore. _

_ He will rot in hell … _

 

“Ha … Ha … Ha!” 

 

The evil laugh of the figure filled the room and could be heard through the massive door. Some guards looked concerned on hearing this noise, but didn’t say anything about it.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	27. Gascon Magic

      Tréville looked at the three men in front of him. Aramis had just come from his office.

 

“He is asleep, but much better.” He said quietly.

 

“Alright, let’s share our information, while he is still asleep. I don’t like the idea that he wakes up and no one is with him or that he is going to have another nightmare, but we need to share our knowledge and we need to figure out a way how to spare Athos this duel …” Tréville wanted to finish.

 

“Captain, I have left my weapons near his bed, so if he really needs … just in case. He will understand. He will guess that we are outside …” Aramis informed the others. “But you are right, if he has another nightmare, it would be good to not leave him alone, then.”

 

      Aramis looked knowingly in the direction of Porthos, sharing with him one of their unspoken conversations.

 

“I have some answers to your questions, Captain. I have some good news, but some bad as well!” Porthos reported to the others.

 

“What is it?” Tréville wanted to know.

 

“Well, the Duke of Savoy was very upset about the idea that he should fight against a sick and weak Musketeer. So he informed the King of this and then proposed that he fights against the Captain of the Red Guards instead.” Porthos told them.

 

“What?” exclaimed d’Artagnan, while Tréville and Aramis hold their breath.

 

“Shhh … d’Artagnan not too loud!” Aramis reminded him for the sake of their sleeping friend.

 

“What did the King say about this idea?”

 

“Oh, he accepted it. He even thought it was an even better idea!” Porthos added.

               

“I am not sure what role the Duke of Savoy plays in this whole plot against Athos, but he has done us a favour. I think he just saved Athos’ life!” Tréville sighed.

 

“But there is more, Captain!”

 

“What more?” Aramis asked curiously. “Is this the bad news?” He could see in Porthos brown eyes that the he wouldn’t like to hear the next part he had to say.

 

“Rochefort asked the King if Athos could be on palace guard that day nevertheless, so that he could watch him win over the Duke of Savoy!”

 

“Ahhh … this can’t be true.” Tréville groaned. “And if I guess correctly the King agreed.”

 

“Yes, Captain! I am sorry. But maybe we can find a way that Athos can excuse himself very soon after that fight or …”

 

“Porthos, Athos is still too weak to get up. Have you forgotten about earlier, that day he couldn’t push the false doctor away from him. He is … he is not …” Aramis tried to hide his emotions. He stopped swallowed and blinked his tears away.

 

“We will find a way to spare him this ordeal or maybe Athos will be a little bit better on Friday and he can come and stand beside us, we’ll keep an eye on him all the time …” D’Artagnan tried to calm his agitated brother. “At least he doesn’t have to fight.” He added.

 

Tréville sensed that Aramis was ready to kill d’Artagnan for the second time this day.

 

_Thank God he has left his weapons in my office._

 

      To ease the thick atmosphere, he said:

 

“Let’s see how Athos is tomorrow. Then we can decide if we should tell him about palace guard on Friday and that the King wishes to see him or not. But no word to him today, not about the swordfight nor the palace guard! And don’t mention the name Rochefort. I fear that those bad memories are haunting him and they are not helping him to relax and rest. Let’s try to help him to recover.”

 

      After Tréville had said these words, he took a few quiet steps to his office, opened the door and looked at Athos, who was still sleeping deeply. Silently he closed the door.

 

“What else have you found out? Aramis?” He looked questioningly at his medic.

 

      Aramis filled them in about what he found or better still what Milady had found in O’Sullivan’s room but he didn’t mention her. No need to tell them about the kiss, no need to tell them about the meeting in the morgue. But he had forgotten something and Porthos discovered it, while Tréville was still trying to figure out the meaning of O’Sullivan knowing Gallagher. With his mouth open he tried to put one and one together.

 

“When have you learnt to read English?” Porthos asked amazed.

 

“I … I have not learnt …”

 

“Are you telling me that Gallagher and O’Sullivan are writing to each other in French?”

 

      Aramis groaned.

 

_Why Porthos, why now?_

 

“I have to admit I had some help!”

 

“From whom?” D’Artagnan asked now keen to hear.

 

“I … I was nearly caught by O’Sullivan returning to his room. She … she had seen me going into his room, came after me and warned me. So she managed to cover me …”

 

“Who is she? Are you talking about Marguerite … Constance?” Porthos wanted to know.

 

“No!” D’Artagnan suddenly exclaimed, seeing Aramis’ face flushing. “You are kidding me!”

 

      The young Gascon put his hand to his mouth and shook his head unbelievingly. Tréville looked from a confused Porthos, to an ashamed Aramis and a very upset d’Artagnan. Suddenly he understood.

 

 _Athos is right. Sometimes Aramis is a fool!_ He groaned inwardly.

 

“Can somebody enlighten me please!” Porthos stated angrily.

 

“It was Milady, helping you, wasn’t it?” D’Artagnan said more as an obvious fact than as a real question.

 

      Porthos growled, grabbed Aramis by his collar and pressed his friend against the wall of Tréville’s office. Aramis could feel the hard wood at his back and Porthos’ breath on his face, while his dark eyes did not leave his own.

 

“Why?” He shouted, but before he could ask something further d’Artagnan came between them.

 

“Shhhh … remember there is a sick  man lying in there and he mustn’t know that Milady has met you, Aramis.” D’Artagnan whispered, giving both of his brothers a killing stare.

 

 _He learns fast from his mentor._ Tréville thought.

 

“Porthos let go of Aramis.” He ordered.

 

“Porthos, I am sorry.” Aramis whispered, with tears in his eyes. “I would have never … I will never tell Athos, but she has helped me. She has confirmed my doubts, twice today.”

 

“Twice … you have seen her a second time. When …? Where …?” D’Artagnan wanted to know.

 

      Slowly and very softly Aramis told them the whole story. As he finished he didn’t dare to look into Porthos’ eyes. His friend was still very upset with him.

 

“So maybe the dead court-lady is the missing link to Athos’ poisoning. Maybe O’Sullivan needed to test his poison first and the young woman was in the wrong place at the wrongTréville looked at the three men in front of him. Aramis had just come from his office.

“We still have no proof that it was O’Sullivan!” Tréville said slowly. “But I think we can now confirm that Milady is no longer a suspect. First Athos has told me that she was still in the palace as he left it and he was followed by a stranger, he would have recognised her, they were married. And secondly I think that she wants to know as much as we do, who did this to her husband.”

 

“Alright, if we decide that Milady is no longer a suspect, we still have two other persons left. O’Sullivan and the Duke of Savoy.” Porthos recapped their discussion.

 

      Tréville heard a noise in his office and turned his head.

 

“I think we have to stop here. Porthos, d’Artagnan! I want both of you to find out more about the Duke. Tomorrow you will follow him around, check his quarters, ask his wife! And Aramis, you will follow your lead with that O’Sullivan. Question Lemay, Constance, Marguerite or other people in the palace. Find out when he arrived, who he talked to, but be careful, I don’t trust this man. The more information we have about both of those men, the better we can protect Athos and … not a word to him!” Tréville warned them with a strong stare. With that said he hurried to his door and opened it.

               

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Athos, what do you think you are doing?” Tréville asked arms crossed on his chest and eyes blazing as he stood in the middle of his room.

 

“Leaving your room. I am better now.” Athos replied in a low voice.

 

      He fumbled in the sheets and blankets then looked around the room, impatient.

 

“Where are my clothes?”

 

“On the back of this chair.” Aramis said quietly, raising an eyebrow, unmoved by his friend’s behaviour.

 

 _He still has problems by sight._ Aramis observed.

 

     He knew that Athos would become restless as soon as the fever left his body, but soon, the convalescent man would become tired and would admit that he was too weak to be alone in his room, even less to walk alone to his room, so he waited. He watched as Athos stood up, swayed and gripped the edge of the heavy nightstand nearly knocking over the huge wooden candelabra at the side of Tréville’s bed. They all watched him as he reached the chair where his clothes had been folded. Unexpectedly, he managed to put his trousers on without falling, but his face was now covered in a fine dew of sweat. His breath was harsh. He paused, a hand on the back of the chair, the other on his knee.  

 

“Need a hand?” Porthos groaned.

 

“No, thank you, I can … I can … manage … on my own.” Athos gasped.

 

“Obviously.” D’Artagnan mocked him.

 

      The young man observed the scene in a falsely relaxed attitude, arms crossed, a shoulder leaning against the wall. He was obviously ready to intervene, as they all were but they had to prove to Athos that he wasn’t fit enough to stay alone in his room, so, they watched him trying to find his boots as steady as a newborn foal.

 

“You stubborn fool!” Tréville grumbled. “I order you to stay here!”

 

“No, out of the question, Captain. You need your bed. I have one downstairs, and I don’t need a nurse tonight.”

 

“I don’t doubt it but remember, I have been given the order to rest the whole day in order to be fit enough to watch you the whole night.” D’Artagnan smiled. “So why don’t you come to my room? I don’t need a bed for now.”

 

“No.”

 

       Athos managed to pull his boots on, but swayed again, nearly kissing the floor.

 

“Athos, you will stay in d’Artagnan’s room tonight. It’s too dangerous to stay alone. Someone is watching you in the garrison. Until we have found out who this spy is, you are in danger, so, let d’Artagnan see you to his room and stay with him there. And that’s an order!” Treville barked.

 

“Allow me to disobey, Captain.” Athos said in the most _Comte’_ s tone he could manage.

 

        He straightened his back and cautiously and very slowly went to the door … which was blocked by the broad chest of Porthos who had crossed his arms towering above him like a giant guard.

 

“Get out of my way, Porthos.” Athos said, voice low and menacing, looking up at his friend with angry dark eyes.

 

        Porthos just shook his head negatively.

 

“Captain. What do I risk? I am sure you will assign two musketeers to watch my door.” Athos pleaded again.

 

      D’Artagnan left the wall and quietly approached Athos. He was a little taller than Athos, even more when the latter was so exhausted.

 

“Now, Athos, isn’t it a little selfish? You are not thinking of these poor men who will spend the whole night at your door?” He asked very softly.

 

      Athos felt defeated. He had lost, he sighed.

 

“Alright. You win.”

 

       His eyes were blazing but he couldn’t help the light twitch of his lips as he witnessed the complacent look in his young brother’ eyes.

 

“But I want to walk. You hear me Porthos. I don’t want to be carried like a bride, and …” He paused to breathe as exhaustion slowly came back. “D’Artagnan, it’s out of the question for you to be awake the whole night, ask for a mattress at least.”

 

“Yes, Lieutenant!.” D’Artagnan laughed. “At your command!”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_D’Artagnan’s room, later_ **

 

“No, d’Artagnan. I don’t want to sleep.”

 

“But you are exhausted! At least lay down for a while. When they are back with our food, you can try to sit on a chair.” D’Artagnan tried to argue.

 

      Athos sighed a slightly exaggerated sigh coupled with his famous glare.

 

“You know, Athos, you don’t scare me anymore.”

 

“Yet, I try hard!” His lips twitched slightly, in his equally famous _almost-smile_.

 

“It’s good to see you better, Athos ... but … actually, you scared me … really scared me. Because, I thought … I … thought …” D’Artagnan stammered.

 

“I would die. I know. I am sorry about that.”

 

      They stayed silent for a moment. Athos’ eyelids fluttered and he leaned his head against the pillow closing his eyes. D’Artagnan stared at him. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but he was so much better than in the past days. The glowing sunrays of the twilight falling through the window at the head of the bed lightened the tangled hair with sparkles of gold. His face was pale, his features drawn and the loss of weight was obvious but the horrible redness had disappeared, as well as the continuing tremors in his body and limbs.

 

“I am not asleep and I know you are observing me.” Athos mumbled without opening his eyes.

 

“Athos.” D’Artagnan sighed smiling. “Alright, come here, if you want. They won’t be long anyway. Do you need my help? ... Alright, no help!” D’Artagnan replied, hands raised in front of him to show that he wouldn’t intervene.

 

      So Athos straightened, and sat for a while on the edge of the mattress to gather himself. Then, using the furniture to steady his paces, he made his way to the young man who still had a hand raised, ready to jump if needed.  

 

“See, I can do it.”

 

“Mmmh, next step, supper, and after that, I will be able to confirm that you are well.”

 

“What are you doing?” Athos asked curiously, looking at a few papers on the table.

 

“Tréville gave me some work to occupy my long night.”

 

“Let me see.” Athos tried, reaching for the first sheet of paper.

 

“Oh, no, don’t touch that. I said MY night, not yours.” D’Artagnan laughed.

 

“Cheeky boy.” Athos grumbled under his breath.

 

“Grumpy old man.” D’Artagnan replied in the same tone.

 

      Athos sat down at the table and they were still smiling at each other when a knock at the door startled them.

 

“Come in.” D’Artagnan shouted, earning a frown from Athos who still had difficulties with loud noises.

 

      Aramis came in, carrying a heavy tray loaded with two bowls of steaming broth or stew, a freshly baked smelling bread, dried apples and a big slice of cheese. He stood, amazed, eyes wide, unable to avert them from the sight of his two smiling and relaxed friends, almost certain that the trembling light from the candles had played tricks on him.

 

“You … you … He ...”

 

“... is smiling, yes.” D’Artagnan confirmed“So, you … you … are …”

 

“Aramis, where is your famous silver tongue?” Athos smiled.

 

       Aramis laid the tray on a small table next to the doorframe and crossed the room in two strides. He crouched in front of Athos and drew him down for a noisy kiss on the cheek. Athos immediately straightened pushing his clingy friend away. He could hear d’Artagnan’s laugh and had great difficulties in hiding his own smile.

 

“Sorry.” Aramis mumbled. “I am so …”

 

“Happy to see me awake, and up and … _fine .._. But … I will owe you this one, one day you will pay for that shameless attack.”

 

“Alright. I will hold you to that.” Aramis laughed gripping his hand.

 

       He stood up and went to retrieve the tray.

 

“Now, eat!”

 

“Is that an order?”

 

“Yes I order you to restore your strength and I trust you, d'Artagnan, to make sure that this stubborn old man empties his bowl. I must leave you, I am needed elsewhere.”

 

       With these words he bent again towards Athos who playfully slapped him on the head. Aramis left with a wink.

 

“So, what have we got there?” D’Artagnan began, cheerfully emptying the tray. “Stew … with … mmh … it smells good … carrots, turnips … mmmh … and this must be … rutabaga … and the meat is ...”

 

“Please, d’Artagnan, can you stop doing that?” Athos moaned.

 

“Doing what?”

 

“It’s Serge’s cooking, it’s not a feast at _Le Louvre_ , you don’t have to try to seduce me into eating, I am hungry anyway. And don’t look at me with those wide eyes. Yes, I am hungry, and let’s eat before I become angry.”

 

       Maybe, it was not a feast at _Le Louvre_ but it was much more than Athos had eaten in the past days. He barely managed to eat half a bowl, dutifully avoiding the mysterious meat and these bitter orange vegetables known as rutabagas!

 

“Do you want an apple?” D’Artagnan asked, main-gauche in his hand, ready to peel and cut the fruit.

 

“Enough, d’Artagnan! Do you think I am an invalid? I  can still use a blade without bleeding to death on your floor.”

 

“Alright.”

 

       D’Artagnan lowered his head, sheepishly.

 

“Oh, I am sorry. It’s just … I am tired … I think … I will try to sleep …” Athos excused himself.

 

“Do you … need … Er … you know … it’s … er ... behind the … screen … over there.”

 

“Thank you.” Athos smiled, moved by the young man’s delicacy. “And, please, don’t stay awake on my account, use that mattress. It’s so close to the bed, you can even hear my blood running in my veins. Let’s try to sleep.” Athos told him yawning.

 

      So, they did, but it didn’t last more than three hours. The garrison was asleep, no noise could be heard except the usual concert of the night birds, insects, stray cats and dogs. Suddenly, d’Artagnan awoke with a start. The candle had burnt itself out and the small room was plunged into darkness. D’Artagnan fumbled around him to try to light the candle again. He could hear Athos who was moaning helplessly. As his eyes began to see clearly, he noticed that his friend was sat on the edge of the mattress, curled around his pain, arms wrapped around his precarious body.

 

      D’Artagnan immediately sat down next to him.

 

“Athos, what’s the matter?” He whispered into his ear.

 

“Sorry … I …”

 

“Please Athos, I am here for you. Tell me!” D’Artagnan urged.

 

“My stomach … it hurts … I can’t …” Athos mumbled weakly.

 

“Alright. What can I do? Do you need a bucket?”

 

“D’Artagnan … I am sorry … you shouldn’t … it’s not your …”

 

“Shh … So, bucket?”

 

“Yes, please.” Athos answered, ashamed.

 

       So d’Artagnan went behind the screen and came back with a bucket. He sat down next to Athos handing him the bucket. He immediately bent over it. He heaved breathlessly with tears swelling in his eyes. D’Artagnan slung an arm around his shoulders and with his left hand he tried to remove the long locks from Athos’ eyes.

 

“Shh … it’s alright … let go … You will be fine!”

 

“You shouldn’t have … to …” Athos hiccuped.

 

“Have to what? See you in this state? Do you remember the day I had decided to prove that I could drink like a _grown up_ Musketeer ...? Who was holding the bucket while my stomach was fighting against me?”

 

“No ... ame …”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Not the same.” Athos repeated raising his head.

 

“Why? Because you are an old man? Nonsense … so, bucket or not bucket, finally?”

 

“Not bucket … mmmhhh.” Athos groaned.

 

“What is it?” D’Artagnan asked alarmed.

 

“My … mmmh … stomach … mmmh.” Athos moaned.

 

“Cramps?”

 

“Mmmh.” Athos closed his eyes and winced, tightening his grip on his belly.

 

“I have an idea, but it would mean leaving this room for a while … I am sorry but I won’t …”

 

_I cannot leave him alone again. I can’t … Aramis will kill me ..._

 

“I can stay alone …”

 

“Oh, no, you can’t!”

 

       A scratching noise at the door made them jump. D’Artagnan reached for his pistol and silently went to the door. He put his ear on  the wood and sighed, relieved, opening it.

 

“Aramis, you are just in time … for once.” He said relieved.

 

“Wha …” Aramis turned towards Athos and went to the bed at once. “My friend, what’s the matter?” He murmured, his hands on Athos’ trembling elbows as he crouched down in front of him.

 

“I don’t know … Aramis … it’s …” Athos panted for air.

 

“Stomach cramps.” D’Artagnan answered in a low voice.

 

“I will fetch you ginger roots and dry mint. You will be alright. It’s the food, your stomach must get used to it again. I will be back soon. I know now, why I couldn’t sleep, you needed me.” Aramis winked at Athos.

 

“Oh, Aramis,” D’Artagnan called him. “While you are at it, bring two stones or bricks.”

 

“Sorry? What?” Aramis asked surprised.

 

“Hot stones wrapped in linens are very effective for this kind of sickness. My father used to do that for me when I was a child.”

 

“It will … a … add … burns … to … my other pains …” Athos moaned who was lying curled up on his side, facing the wall.

 

       D’Artagnan sat down again behind his back.

 

“You should lie down on your back. I am here. Try to close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

 

    As Athos’ pain increased, d’Artagnan gently and rhythmically rubbed his shoulder with his thumb, the rhythm mirroring his own breathing to calm his friend, and they waited.

 

        Later … a lot later, it seemed to both men, Aramis slowly and clumsily opened the door, carrying a heavy bag and a pot of boiling water.

 

        D’Artagnan went to help him, but Athos whimpered in his semi-consciousness.

 

“Stay with him, I will manage. The water is already hot and I will stoke the fire to heat the stones.”

 

      As he prepared the tea, d’Artagnan sat down on the mattress against Athos’ shoulder and gently shook his arm.

 

“Let me help you to sit up, Athos.”

 

       Athos curled a little more on himself.

 

“Athos, it won’t be long.” Aramis said coming to the bed with a cup of mint tea and a piece of ginger. “Come on, look at us.”

 

       He sat next to Athos’ hips and waited for him to move. At last, the man propped himself on an elbow, d’Artagnan helped him into an upright position and arranged the pillows at his back, before standing up in order to check on the stones in the hearth.

 

“Take this, just a small piece and chew slowly. It will help the nausea. Then drink this and don’t make a face. I know, the mixture of tastes is awful: mint, ginger and willow bark … and … I am sorry … honey again. Then you will lay on your back.” Aramis explained sitting sideways, where d’Artagnan had been a moment ago.

 

“I can’t.” Athos whimpered in answer while another cramp ripped through his stomach.

 

“You will, because our young Gascon here wants to practice his magic on you, you know, some mysterious Gascon ritual.” Aramis smiled, pressing the cup to Athos’ lip.

 

    He drank dutifully, grimacing at the bitter taste and tried to lay down on his side, but Aramis caught him by the shoulders and forced him to lay on his back. Athos, exhausted by his painful cramps and the lack of sleep landed heavily, his head on Aramis’ thigh. The latter smiled and ran his hand through Athos’ hair.

 

“You definitely need a wash and a haircut.” Aramis laughed avoiding Athos’ slap on his hand.

 

“It’s ready.” D’Artagnan announced, carrying to the bed a stone wrapped in several linens.

 

      He put the stone on Athos’ stomach with great care. Athos looked at the process astonished.

 

“Is that all, d’Artagnan?” Aramis asked. “No prayers, no incantations? I am disappointed.” Aramis mocked.

 

“Aramis, be quiet, for once.” Athos grumbled earning a light slap on the head. A loud sigh escaped his lips as the heat began to calm his cramps.

 

“Well done d’Artagnan,” Aramis told him amazed. “Your ancestral magic seems to work.”

 

“We will change it in a moment. Athos, tell us as soon as it’s cold.” D’Artagnan said very seriously, making the other two smile fondly.

 

       Soon, the cramps disappeared and Athos lay, fully awake and calm. D’Artagnan, however, sitting at the end of the bed facing the two men, was blinking furiously to try to keep his eyes open, and Athos and Aramis, stayed silent and smiling as they watched him slowly falling asleep curled up like a young exhausted puppy.


	28. It’s our work to be followed by death and to follow it.

⚔⚔

 

    The room had been silent for a long time. The flame of the candle was gently flickering, sending shadows and gold on the sleeping face and hair of their young friend. In a very low voice, Aramis began to speak:

 

“This is all my fault.”

 

    Athos raised his head to look at him. He still had his head on Aramis’ thigh and the latter didn’t dare to tell him that his limb was numb. But as Athos sat upright and used his real pillow, Aramis stretched his legs. Then, he sat next to Athos, chin on his bent knees, arms circling his legs.

 

    Athos bent his head to try to look into his eyes, but Aramis had closed them.

 

“What do you mean by that, Aramis?”

 

“Your illness. It’s all my fault.”

 

“But why? How can you say that? Did you poison me?” Athos asked frustrated.

 

“You know what I am talking about.” Aramis whispered looking at the young man at his feet. “I can’t say it here, but you know.”

 

“No, I don’t!” Athos said confused.

 

“Athos, please! Think, if it’s the Duke of Savoy, it’s my fault.”

 

“Oh, that’s new! And why would you be responsible? Who fought and humiliated Savoy? You? No. I fought him. I have humiliated him.”

 

“But, I tried to charge him for the … the massacre.” Aramis replied voice low and stiff.

 

“And if it’s O’Sullivan?” Athos asked defiantly crossing his arms on his chest.

 

“I don’t know … I … I was there. I helped you … to …” Aramis tried.

 

“Are you stupid Aramis? O’Sullivan would kill me to punish you? Why?”

 

    Aramis raised his head to look straight into Athos’s eyes.

 

“Who is stupid, now?”

 

“What?” Athos asked, taken aback.

 

“By killing you, slowly, by making you suffer, he kills me, he makes me suffer, so both of us are punished, more punished than if he had killed the two of us.” Aramis explained barely audible.

 

“You aren’t stupid. I withdraw what I said …  but if you argue that way it could be Rochefort too.” Athos stated dryly.

 

“I … don’t …” Aramis stammered.

 

“You don’t have any argument, because it can’t be your fault.”

 

“And if he knows?!” Aramis exclaimed straightening his back to glare at his friend.

 

“Who Rochefort, the Duke of Savoy or O’Sullivan? I can’t follow you right now, Aramis! Can you please stop with your _ifs_ and _maybes_? You are talking nonsense. Rochefort doesn’t know because if he knew, you would already have been tied to a wheel and beaten to death.” Athos answered angrily. “And he wouldn’t punish me for your sin? Aramis, really? You are too tired to think straight … you know that! And don’t forget that he saved my life when I thought he would kill me … So maybe he isn’t the Rochefort we knew anymore. I can’t believe that I really said this out loud ...” Athos shook his head unbelievingly.

 

“I know, but …”

 

“Oh, stop it, Aramis. I am tired and you will wake up the boy … Oh, but, I forgot a suspect: and if it’s my dear wife?”

 

“It’s not her! I am pretty sure that it’s not her.”

 

    Athos wanted to answer something but his tired mind had lost his thought again. He sighed:

 

“Alright, then, stop spiralling into guilt. It’s my trademark not yours.” Athos smiled, lifting a hand to squeeze his friend’s neck. “Is everything alright now?” He asked quietly.

 

“No …” Aramis said.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I don’t know. Your illness, my … mistake … bad memories … I …” Aramis muttered.

 

“Bad memories? Savoy?” Athos asked anxiously, letting go of his brother’s nape.

 

“I am sorry ... I can’t help … Why am I always followed by death, Athos?”

 

    Athos snorted. Aramis stretched his legs which had became numb.

 

“Why are you laughing?” He asked, stunned.

 

“It’s our work to be followed by death and to follow it, brother.” Athos said, bumping his temple against Aramis’. “But we should try to sleep now.”

 

“I …” Aramis tried.

 

“Shhh … don’t argue. You must sleep. I won’t go anywhere, you know, and I am safe. We are safe. Look at this ferocious watchdog at our feet.”

 

“When I sleep …”

 

“I know … They are here … Your memories, my memories … Dead men, dead women ... But we will watch over each other. I feel better, you know, a lot better. Thanks to you!”

 

And as Aramis’ eyelids began to flutter, Athos reached for the blanket and covered them both.

 

“Good night my friend.” He softly whispered in the ear of the exhausted medic.

           

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Thursday, 5th of June_ **

 

“Nahh. Don’t worry, Doctor, I am pretty sure we will find him in there.”

 

“You know Aramis better than me, Porthos, but you know, with everything happening these …”

 

    He was interrupted by a nervous voice:

 

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

 

    One of the two cadets guarding the stairs leading to the balcony had drawn his pistol and pointed it in the vague direction of Lemay and Porthos. The still sleepy sun trying to made its way through the mist hadn’t cleaned all the remnants of the night and it was still too dark to recognise the two newcomers.

 

“Hey, boy, calm down, and put your toy down, you will hurt someone or yourself!” Porthos laughed.

 

“Oh, _Monsieur_ , I didn’t recognise you. I am sorry, _Monsieur_.” The young cadet bleated, sheathing his weapon.

 

“Please, _mon petit_ Galland, don’t give me so many _Monsieur_ , and let us enter this room.”

 

“Yes, _Monsieur_.” The young man said, flushing.

 

    Porthos and Lemay slipped between the two young -barely- men, to reach d’Artagnan’s door. Before entering, Porthos called back:

 

“Galland, Lucas, dismissed!”

 

    The young cadets jumped and replied in a perfect chorus:

 

“Yes, _Monsieur_!”

 

    Lemay smiled as Porthos said in a lower voice with a wink, as they approached the door:

 

“One of my favourite games.”

 

    He opened the door quietly. The room was dim and rather cold. The fire had died and the air smelt of cold embers and mint and this little something more musky characteristic of a room where three men, little acquainted with a bathroom in the last few days, had just slept. As he watched the scene, smiling fondly, Porthos snorted.

 

“What is it, Porthos?” Lemay asked peering around the broad shoulders to try to have a better look at the room.

 

“Isn’t it adorable?” Porthos whispered.

 

    And indeed, the scene was a sight. D’Artagnan’s head was dangling over the edge of the mattress and gently moved following the rhythm of his breathing. His whole body was contorted in an impossible posture as his long limbs had tried to find enough room on the bed without waking the other two. Athos slept in a semi-upright position, head against the window, mouth slightly opened, snoring softly and Aramis was literally sprawled all over him like a human blanket.   Porthos lit two candles, and even the noises he made didn’t wake up his exhausted friends. Athos was the first to open an eye and he smiled sleepily at the two men.

 

“How is our patient this morning?” Lemay began, barely audible.

 

“Which one?” Athos asked playfully.

 

    D’Artagnan choose this moment to shoot upright and fumble to find a weapon, eyes half opened and bleary, and one of his feet landed on Aramis’ stomach. The man cried, tried to reach for his belt which wasn’t at his waist and fell on the floor, dishevelled and ashamed.

 

“See how safe I am with these two, Doctor Lemay!” Athos laughed.

 

“He had very strong cramps and nausea last night.” Aramis said as he slowly stood up, because he knew that Athos would hide this little detail.

 

    While d’Artagnan and Aramis righted their clothes, hair and pride, Lemay approached the bed to examine a rather pliant Athos.

 

“Alright, except these stomach cramps, a normal consequence of your long fast, how are you?”

 

“Better, Doctor Lemay, a lot better.”

 

    Aramis and d’Artagnan, stood behind Lemay, shoulder to shoulder in the attitude of two students listening dutifully to their teacher.

 

“And my two assistants, here, were very qualified and efficient … in a … magic way.” Athos smiled.

 

“Magic way?”

 

“That’s a secret.” Athos whispered with a wink at d’Artagnan.

 

“It’s good to see you so well, Athos, but … I …” He paused. “Please, can you sit a little more upright, I want to check on your eyes, listen to your heart and lungs.”

 

    Lemay carefully studied Athos’ eyes, his breathing and listened to his heartbeat.

 

“Now, can you lift your shirt, please?” Athos followed Lemay’s instruction. “What … are …” Lemay began, noticing a few bruises on Athos’ chest, obviously fingerprints.

 

“Your new assistant’s work, I think. He manhandled me as if I was a corpse and not a living man.” Athos replied angrily.

 

“I … about that … I wanted … to apologies. I didn’t think he would show this obnoxious behaviour. He isn’t a doctor, he shouldn’t have been so arrogant. I am sorry, Athos.” Lemay whispered bowing his head.

 

“It’s not your fault, Doctor. Anyway, what’s done is done! But ... thank you.”

 

“Well, I think that my young Gascon assistant will prepare another cup of coffee for you, because even if you seem a lot better, I want all the poison out of your body as soon as possible, and it’s good for your heart and head.” Lemay said, visibly relieved.

 

“Oh, no, please, can I drink something better and not so bitter for once? Please, Doctor?” Athos pleaded.

 

“No Athos, you will earn your glass of _bourgogne_ when you are perfectly healthy.” Aramis laughed. “Doctor, what kind of food can he eat to ease his stomach?” He added.

 

“I will give you a note. He shouldn’t eat acidic food, and only in small amounts.”

 

“Athos, you are going to love eating _gruel_ every day!” Porthos mocked.

 

“You are right, Porthos, it’s a good idea and he must drink water between his meals but not during them. Ginger if he is nauseous and mint tea for the cramps … and your magic, d’Artagnan, as it seems to work. You will tell me about that, one day… Now, gentlemen, I must leave you. Our King will need me very soon, I don’t doubt it. Each time he sneezes, he thinks he is at death’s door.” Lemay sighed and he left the room with a bow.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

    A new day and Tréville hoped that it would be a better one than the last few days for all of them. He had just finished morning muster, well aware that the _Inséparables_ were missing. He had seen Lemay arriving, but decided to wait after his visit at Athos’ sickbed. He wanted to find out more about Athos’ actual state of health and to warn the Doctor not to trust this O’Sullivan with helping him. Especially regarding the King and his family. This morning he had planned to stay at his office, enough time to go through some more papers and enough time for Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan to go to the Palace. If Athos liked it or not, he would have to stay with him. Tréville was about to return to his office as Lemay appeared.

 

“Doctor, may I please have a word with you?”

 

    Lemay had already expected that Tréville would like to be informed about his patient’s state of health and he needed to apologise. Dr. Lemay followed Tréville in his office.

 

“Please, Doctor, what can you tell me about Athos’ state of health?”

 

    He waved him to a chair, while he himself sat down too.

 

“Athos shows signs of improvement. I think his body has fought the poison. His vision is still blurred, but less than the last time I checked him and the pupils will take several days to contract and go back to normal. But his throat is less swollen, the redness in his face has vanished. The rash is improving and his heartbeat is almost normal again. Still a bit too fast for my liking. So no stress for him in the next days. But he will heal completely. I am sure of it.”

 

    Tréville sighed out loud. He had needed to hear these words from the Doctor too. With Aramis and Lemay certain Athos would recover.

 

_Thank God!_

 

“Please, be aware Captain, that Athos still needs time to recover. He has lost weight in the last days and he is still very weak. So no work at least for one week.”

 

    Tréville looked at Lemay:

 

“I wish you could tell this to King Louis. He demands that Athos appears tomorrow at the palace and will be part of the palace guard. He says that Lady Marguerite can do work again and is much better than Athos, so as an athletic young man he must be fit again too.”

 

“You should inform the King that Athos does not have the flu, but was poisoned. If he knows that there are other symptoms he will probably understand.”

 

“I doubt that Louis will listen to me.”

 

“I know exactly what you mean.” Lemay nodded and sighed. “Alas, I won’t be able to convince his Majesty, if he really insists that he wants to see Athos, I would advise you that he comes with you, but only stays for an hour. I think his body will be strong enough for a little excursion. Just make sure that he drinks and eats enough and it would be best, if he could go out to enjoy fresh air today. The sun will do him good.” Tréville listened carefully to the advice.

 

“I will see to that, Doctor. Speaking of the King, I have to strongly advise you not to work with O’Sullivan any longer.”

 

“I have heard about the incident yesterday. I am really sorry, I never allowed him to go directly to Athos, but advised him to talk with you first, and ask for permission to check on him. Aramis had let us know his doubts but O’Sullivan wouldn’t stop insisting in helping me and the King suddenly wanted to speak with me and I had no idea how long it would take me.”

 

“That’s what I thought.” Tréville accepted Lemay’s apology. “What impression does this O’Sullivan make on you?” He asked.

 

“He seems to be very interested in medical issues. He has been at the palace for over two weeks now and he helped me with taking care of the patients who had fallen ill with the flu. I haven’t heard any complaints about him until yesterday.”

 

“Did he help with the young lady who died too?”

 

“Yes, he helped with teas, but I had to take over. She became very ill very fast.”

 

“Interesting!” Tréville said.

 

“Why are you asking, Captain?” Lemay wanted to know.

 

“Because Aramis checked her corpse yesterday at the morgue and he discovered similar signs to a belladonna poisoning. He is convinced that she was poisoned too.”

 

    Lemay looked shocked at Tréville.

 

“Now, that you are telling me this Aramis could be right. Her symptoms were more like those that Athos experienced but much stronger. She had no cough and there was no rash on her chest, but ...” Lemay stopped playing nervously with his moustache.

 

“But what? Tréville asked a bit impatiently.

 

“If she had consumed the poison by drinking juice or by eating several berries of the belladonna plant, there wouldn’t be a rash on her chest.” He described.

 

“So, you can confirm, that the lady-in-waiting, was poisoned too?”

 

“I need to check on her again to be really sure, but according to her symptoms, Aramis’ discovery and my own examination, it is very plausible that she was poisoned. Oh my God!” He exclaimed.

 

“We have a murderer at the palace then! I have to inform the King!”

 

“Maybe we can wait a little with that. My duty is to guarantee the security at the palace. Right now there were only two people poisoned. At least that is what I know about. Or do you have any other patients with similar symptoms at the palace?”

 

“No, not that I am aware of. Marguerite is better again and she had all the symptoms of the flu. Then we had some other maids with the flu, but they are all on the mend.”

 

“So, let’s try not to warn the perpetrator.”

 

“But, I have already informed O’Sullivan!” Lemay exclaimed. He went pale. “You think that he is the perpetrator, don’t you?” He looked questioningly into Tréville’s blue eyes.

 

“He could be, but I am not sure, for now. Have you seen him behaving in an odd or suspect way?

 

    Lemay thought about the question.

 

“He is really fascinated how the body reacts to poisonous substances. I thought he was a fine scientist. But now, by thinking about your question, he is kind of a sadist too. He likes to watch other people suffer. For example with the young lady-in-waiting. She was in so much pain and he told her what pain would come next. Madame Bonacieux told me that she had to ask him to leave the room.”

 

“It fits how he treated Athos yesterday. He told him about the symptoms of the poison, which stage he might be at. But he didn’t ask him how he was feeling or for any signs of improvement, like you or Aramis have done before, Aramis has told me.” Tréville shook his head. “I don’t know, Doctor, just be careful when he is around you and don’t let him help you with further patients.” Tréville advised him.

 

    He stood up and Lemay followed his example.

 

“Thank you for taking your time and checking on Athos again. It is good to hear that he can at least go to the palace for an hour.”

 

“Oh, before I forget. Try to go easy with food for him the next days. Athos’ stomach needs to get used to food. He had some severe stomach cramps during the night. I have given Aramis some advice about what he can eat.”

 

“Thank you doctor!” Tréville shook hands with him.

 

    Lemay left his office and Tréville decided to check on Athos himself.

 

_**To be continued...** _


	29. You look much better!

⚔⚔

  
  


**_Later in Tréville’s office_ **

 

        After they had managed to convince Athos to return to Tréville’s office, which had been easier said than done, d’Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis had left for their duty at the palace that morning.

 

        Athos was still overtired from the night before, so he soon fell asleep, after lying down on Tréville’s spare bed which the Captain had prepared for his still unfit Lieutenant. Earlier Athos had insisted in walking from d’Artagnan’s room to the office on his own. His first steps had been unsteady but he had managed them without complaining or asking for help, but as soon as he stood on the landing of the balcony he slowed down more and more. Athos had to pause several times. His heart had started to beat faster again and he had to lean on Aramis panting heavily. No one commented about Athos’ still weak state as they watched his struggle to go back to normal. They simply tried to comfort him during his way to his next place of rest. There, Aramis had tucked his brother into Porthos’ grey blanket which Athos had kept from the day before. It was thick and soft and the sick man felt secure in it.  Now Tréville observed his still pale officer, while taking a break from planning the trade summit feast that would start around noon the following day. Athos even breathing made him smile. His soldier had finally won the fight against the evil poison. In the afternoon Tréville would try to find out more about the possible perpetrators. He had to return to the palace to speak to the King and the annoying Rochefort. He grinned at the thought that the Duke of Savoy would now have to fight against this unworthy Captain of the Red Guards and he truly hoped that the Duke would win against him. 

 

_ Is Aramis right?  _

_ Has the Duke of Savoy attacked Athos?  _

_ But why? What reason would he have?  _

_ Because of a lost sword fight?  _

_ Because he suspected that Athos knew something about what had happened in Savoy?  _

 

        The hurt he suffered during his time as Captain of the Musketeers, would never heal completely. Twenty men, no twenty-one men lost, counting Marsac, on that horrible winter night. Aramis was too emotional when the shadows of the past knocked at his door. Reminding him of his guilt, that he survived, when everyone else was slaughtered. He couldn’t blame Aramis. 

 

_ Or is the Duke plotting against King Louis and had Athos heard or seen anything which the Duke of Savoy thought as a threat for his plans? Is there a conspiracy going on between Savoy and Spain against King Louis?  _

 

        The signs of war had echoed now several times through the walls of the palace, but Tréville still hoped that these were only fantasy thoughts of noblemen or the King. 

 

_ But wouldn’t Athos have reported such a talk to me, to someone else? I need to ask him again and I need to find any possible proof maybe at the quarters of Savoy at Le Louvre. But easier said than done.  _

 

        He shook his head. 

 

_ No. I doubt that. Why would Savoy have then asked to fight against Rochefort? It would have been so easy to kill Athos in a swordfight. Knowing very well that the other man wouldn’t be  _

_ an opponent for him in his weak state. A tragic incident and Athos’ life would have been ended at once and no one would suspect him.  _

 

        He heard a low moan from Athos. The poor man still had to fight with smaller stomach cramps. He stood up and sat on the chair next to his bed. Athos didn’t make any signs to wake up and so Tréville only sat there without touching him. There was no sweat on his forehead anymore. Tréville thought about the other possible suspect: the Irish merchant O’Sullivan. He suspected that this strange O’Sullivan had something to do with Athos’ poisoning. There was a connection to the mercenary Gallagher Athos had to kill last year in order to protect the Queen. His sudden appearance at the palace, his knowledge as a medic about poisonous plants and his unannounced intrusion into Athos quarter’s the day before. The caring for the now dead lady-in-waiting who had been poisoned by belladonna too. All these small facts lead to a very convincing trace that he was their perpetrator and not the Duke.

 

        And Athos’ nightmare the other day about the attack against the Queen last year was another important fact that he couldn’t ignore. Athos’ instincts rarely betrayed him.

 

        Or were they completely wrong? Was there another perpetrator lurking in the dark? Someone from Athos’ past as the Comte de la Fère? Athos never told anything about his former life. Bits and pieces now and then.

 

        He needed to ask Athos more questions, but later. Tréville softly pressed Athos’ hand as another slow moan escaped his lips. He waited a moment for any signs of waking, but Athos’ body relaxed again and he continued to sleep. Tréville stood up from his chair, crossed his huge office and sat down again behind his table.        

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        On their way to the palace Aramis filled Porthos and d’Artagnan in about what Athos had told him about his thoughts concerning the Duke of Savoy, which was very little. They parted at the entrance to the palace. While Porthos went into the throne room, d’Artagnan wanted to check on Constance and Aramis hesitated. Should he risk it by going to the Queen’s Quarters? D’Artagnan could see him, but he had to try to find Marguerite. Maybe she could tell him more about the behaviour of O’Sullivan in the last two weeks.

 

        As he climbed the stairs to the second floor of the palace he had the slight feeling that he was being followed.

 

 _Milady? Not again._ _But she would have shown herself by now._

 

        Aramis slowed down and pretended to look at a beautiful painting showing the goddess of love Aphrodite wearing nothing and being surrounded by four small angles, which were floating over her. He liked this motive very much. The person following him had stopped, he could see the dark shadow of a man, he turned around, wanting to know who was lurking in the dark corner. He was about to step into the dark space when Constance saw him.

 

“Aramis!” She said with a bright smile on her face. “How is Athos?” 

 

        Aramis turned around. While greeting Constance he could hear running footsteps fleeing from the dark place where the unknown man had hidden.

 

“Better, Constance!” He smiled. “But he is still very weak.”

 

“I am glad to hear that. Dr. Lemay has mentioned that he was poisoned. Do you know how ...?” She stopped as she noticed his facial expression.

 

“Shhh …” He laid his forefinger at his lips. “Not here!” 

 

        Constance understood at once. They wanted to keep it a secret.

“Anyway, Aramis, I have to run, the Queen has asked for me. She wants my honest opinion which dress she shall wear tomorrow for the summit.” With these words she hurried away, turning her head around and shouting: “Tell him my best wishes!”.

 

        Aramis looked after the beautiful young woman. She was wearing a blue dress and her dark hair was braided. 

 

_ No wonder our young Gascon is in love with her. _

 

        The figure that had followed him was gone. No need to go and have a look. 

 

_ Aramis be careful. Stay away from your son and the Queen in the next days. _

 

        He turned around, deciding it was better to join Porthos in the throne room for a while. He needed to talk to Marguerite, but he needed to find the right moment to do that.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        After Constance had finished speaking to Aramis she made her way to the Queen’s quarters. She crossed the beautiful library which was lined with books on both sides of the wall She loved this place. It smelled like leather, good old leather, and when the sun shone through the windows she had a beautiful view on the painted ceilings which were describing several stories of the Old Testament, Adam and Eve, King David ... She loved the yellow and blue of the paintings that complemented the wooden floor and shelves.

 

        As she crossed some other rooms and corridors and was ready to enter the Queen’s first room, she spotted another Musketeer.

 

“D’Artagnan! What a lovely surprise! What is it this morning? First I meet Aramis, then you?”                    

 

        She made some steps into his direction and stopped.

 

“Goodness, what has happened to your face? Your chin is brown and yellow and your eye is shimmering in purple. Who did that?” Concerned she eyed up his tired and disfigured face.

 

“You would never believe me, if I told you.” He smiled at her with his sweetest smile. His expression full of love for the woman in front of him.

 

“So, you will not tell me!” Constance mocked.

 

“Let’s say, I will tell you another time. I am here … on … on Musketeer business!”

 

“Oh, like Aramis.” She mused.

 

“Well, you could say that.”

 

“So you are doing your own little research in finding out who has poisoned Athos?” She concluded.

 

“Shhh …” D’Artagnan looked anxiously around. He took more steps towards her and their faces nearly touched. In a lower voice he said.

 

“I think it is best, that we don’t talk about Athos being poisoned here. Those walls have ears and it doesn’t make sense to alarm the King right now … well, if we do so … we will have to deal with a frightened and panicking King … and I hope we can spare us that scenario for a bit longer.”

        Constance nodded understandingly.

 

“It’s maybe the best he doesn’t know that shortly before the summit. Right now he and everyone around him is so excited and stressed.” 

 

She didn’t say that she was referring to Queen Anne too. Constance was trustworthy and that was one of the qualities he valued about her.

 

“So, what do you want to know, d’Artagnan?” Constance asked curiously.

 

“Well, how shall I put it? We have two main suspects. One is the Duke of Savoy and the other is this Irish merchant O’Sullivan.”

 

“I am sorry I cannot tell you anything about the Duke of Savoy, besides that his wife is lovely and has helped the last days with the Dauphin, while Marguerite was that ill. She only said that her husband was unlucky about the whole situation in Savoy right now. He wishes to gain more power and he thinks that our King is a spoiled child. He’s been in a bad mood since they arrived here and his wife thinks it is because he knows that under Louis he will not get good trade conditions for their country. He wishes to leave as soon as possible and I think he is very bored. Most of the time Louis expects to join him and Rochefort is getting on his nerves. I even heard court gossip that he will duel with him tomorrow. That will be very interesting. Didn’t Athos beat him last year?” She went silent as she could see the hurt look in d’Artagnan’s brown eyes. 

 

“I am sorry! I have not asked you how he is … I have just asked Aramis, but if you want to tell me. I’m here to listen. You know that.” Constance stepped nearer and hugged him. 

 

        D’Artagnan let his chin drop onto her head and leaned into her warming touch. The last days had been odd between them, after she had seen him kissing Lucy. But now, in this very moment, she only wanted to comfort him. Some pages passed them and d’Artagnan softly loosened her grip around his neck.        

 

“Thank you!” He cleared his throat. “He is a bit stronger than the last days, but he is still very weak.” 

 

        Then he stepped several paces away from her looking at her still smiling and understanding face. Her beautiful dress, her beautiful hair. A sudden thought crossed his mind.

 

“Ehmm … talking about court gossip. King Louis wants Athos to serve tomorrow as palace guard, but he is still not fit for duty!”

 

“Unbelievable!” Constance looked shocked shaking her head.

 

“I know … I ask much, but maybe you can talk to the Queen. Can you tell her that Athos is still very sick and weak and that he won’t be fit? Perhaps she can convince her husband ...” D’Artagnan was at a loss and stepped uneasily from one foot to the other.

 

“Of course I will speak to her. She will understand! Athos saved her life last year at the Convent. I will talk to her later.” She promised. “Her word means a lot. The King will listen to her!” She tried to calm the young Gascon.

 

“Thank you.” He looked into her beautiful eyes. “This means a lot!”

 

“Do you want to know anything else?” Constance asked him. Feeling honoured that she could help him.

 

“Well … what can you tell me about this O’Sullivan?”

 

“O’Sullivan is a sadistic creature.” She answered very quickly while looking around her and speaking more quietly.

 

“What makes you say that?” D’Artagnan asked now curiously.

 

“He has been here for over two weeks now. From the very beginning, he approached Dr. Lemay and asked him to help as a medic. While caring for patients he has given them the wrong medicine or waited too long to give them painkillers in order to watch the symptoms of the flu or colds working on the body. He has no compassion with his patients. He is cold and evil and even if he tries to be charming and polite you can see that he is acting strange. I doubt that he is really a medic, maybe an insane scientist, but not a medic!” She now became agitated.

 

“Has he mentioned that he has any reservations about the Musketeers or French noblemen?” D’Artagnan asked her.

 

“Not that I know. He hasn’t mentioned anything. Wait … he told the young court-woman that died several days ago, that he had lost a friend. Another Irish soldier that he had been murdered. And that he was looking for answers.”

 

        D’Artagnan looked surprised. That was new to him. 

 

_ So perhaps O’Sullivan has found out about Athos’ duty as he saved the Queen. Athos had given Gallagher the chance to surrender.  _

 

        He sighed. He wanted to ask a further question, but the door to the Queen’s quarters was opened. Lady Christine was standing in the doorway her hand at the door knob.

 

“Oh, Constance, it’s good to see you! The Queen was already asking for you!” Constance said a short goodbye to d’Artagnan and hurried away.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜         

 

        His green eyes stared at the beautiful carved dark brown ceiling. Athos had never noticed the pattern carved in the wood. He followed the lines with his eyes. Around him he could hear the silent rustling of paper. He felt his stomach growling, he was hungry. His eyes wandered from the wooden ceiling down to his body. He could see the candleholder beside the bed, an uncomfortable wooden chair, fresh clothes neatly folded laying on its back, Porthos’ grey thick blanket, with some holes in it, covering his body. He felt a tense feeling in his lower abdomen and knew exactly what the meaning of this sensation was. He sighed out deeply. In the part of the room, next to the door, where he was lying only a few sun rays were reaching him, but for the first time in days, his eyes didn’t hurt and he had no headache. His stomach growled again. 

 

_ I need to eat something. My bladder is pressing and I don’t want to get those nasty cramps again. _

 

        Tréville who had heard the deep sigh of his Lieutenant slowly approached him. Athos could hear his steps and he turned his head into his direction. He managed a soft smile as his mind realised that he could see clear again. Not a blurred vision, but a very good vision of his commanding officer and what he saw didn’t please him. Tréville looked tired, even exhausted and his pale eyes were full of worry. As he saw Athos’ soft smile, his open green eyes and less blackness of the pupils, he smiled back. A warm smile, crossing his wrinkled face.

 

“Morning, Captain.” Athos managed.

 

“Good morning, Athos!”

 

        Tréville sat on a second chair, which was not occupied with clothes. 

 

“You look better! How are you?”

 

“To be honest. I feel hungry and I need to …” Athos hesitated.

 

        Tréville understood at once.

 

“Do you need help to stand up?” 

 

        Athos thought about the question.

 

“I don’t know? I will give it a try!” 

 

        Athos raised his weak upper body into an upright position. Without help he managed himself into a sitting position,  his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. Slowly he stood up. He felt his feet and legs trembling a little, but it was better than the last times he stood up. Tréville pointed at an extra door in his room.

 

“The chamberpot is in there. You can go there, while I send one of the guards to get you some food and something to drink.”

 

        Athos slowly made it to the door, opened it, while Tréville was stepping out of his office, with a glance back at Athos, but he realised that his Lieutenant would make it on his own. To give him some privacy, he left his office and closed the front door behind him. While Tréville waited outside Athos checked with his eyes the red rash on his chest for the first time. The rash was still visible, covered by the thick yellow-white honey cream Aramis had renewed this morning. Under the soft layer he could see the deep red, swollen skin, but it wasn’t itching anymore.

 

_ A sting of a pin nearly killed me. Not a cut from a big sword on my chest. _

 

        Athos thought as he wrapped himself in the much too big, but very soft blue shirt of Porthos and sat down on Trévilles bed. Athos made a rough inspection of his health. His stomach still hurt a bit, but his throat was better, his fever was gone. No headache. His breathing was normal again and he didn’t feel the hard beating of his heart anymore in his chest and he finally could see again. He felt fine but still not well enough to call himself fit for duty, but he felt better than in days. With his back against the wall he tried to relax. Several minutes later the Captain returned. He could see that Athos had changed his clothes. Besides, the much too big shirt Porthos had brought from his room, he had put on his socks and trousers. Athos had sat himself on the bed. His back was leaning on the wall, a pillow between him and the cold wood. His feet were on the mattress and over his legs he had put the grey blanket. Protectively he held his left hand on his stomach.

 

“You look much better!” Tréville stated.

 

“I feel much better!”

 

“Serge soon will bring you something to eat.”

 

“Thank you, but I am not sure if ...” Athos stopped. His hand still pressed on his stomach.

 

“You aren’t sure, if the stomach cramps will return?” Tréville asked softly.

 

“Hmm …” Athos tried to avoid looking at him.

 

       Silence settled between the two men. While Athos tried to calm his emotions the Captain of the Musketeers thought about a good way how to ask Athos about the Duke of Savoy and O’Sullivan.

 

“I have seen that you have given d’Artagnan some papers to work on.” Athos finally broke the silence. “My eyes … my eyes are much better today, so if you allow, I could help you?” Athos suggested quietly.

 

“Oh, those papers were nothing important. Just some lists …” Tréville wanted to continue but a knock at the door interrupted him. He got up, his pistol in his hand. “Who is it?” He barked. 

        And Athos squeezed his eyes shut. 

 

_ Well, I think I still need to get used to loud noises again. _

 

        Tréville returned to his bedside with a bowl of gruel.

 

“Here for you and don’t worry, the Doctor has told Aramis that you can eat this without getting stomach cramps.” He placed the bowl with a spoon on a table that was situated at the bed head side.          

 

        Athos raised himself, seized the warm bowl in his hand and put the spoon reluctantly in the disgusting content of the bowl.

 

“Really? Gruel!” His expression was less thrilled.

 

“Eat, Athos! Your body needs it. Besides you have told me that you are hungry!”

 

“Can I have a glass of water, please?” Athos looked around for a cup.

 

“Later!” Tréville stated. “Dr. Lemay has told us that you shouldn’t eat and drink at the same time. So first this gruel, then a pause and then some water. Or the other way round!” 

 

        Athos sighed. His stomach started to growl again and he knew that he had no choice but to eat the white mush. Slowly he started to eat, expecting that the stomach cramps to return soon, but nothing. After he managed to eat half of the bowl he put it down on the small table and pressed his back a bit more into the pillow. Tréville had observed him critically. He looked much better, but he was still weak. Was it really a good idea to ask him now about the Duke of Savoy and O’Sullivan.

 

“What is it?” Athos quietly asked, knowing very well that his Captain wanted to ask him something.

 

“Nothing!” Tréville stood up. “Try to rest and sleep a bit longer. You look …”

 

“Tired … exhausted … ill …” Athos mocked. “I know I look horrible, but I am awake now. So you can ask me your burning questions. Believe me I have the same. Who has done this to me?” Athos interrupted his Captain. “So …?” 

 

        And so they started to talk. Tréville asked his Lieutenant about the Duke of Savoy, O’Sullivan or further possible perpetrators Athos maybe had in mind. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


**_In the meantime at the palace_ **

 

        Shortly after entering the palace, Porthos reached the throne room where he started his duty as palace guard. Neither the Duke of Savoy nor this Irish tradesmen were anywhere to be seen. Porthos hoped he would have better luck later that day. King Louis was pacing from one side of his huge room to the other.

 

“It’s only one day left and my dear Comte Rochefort is nowhere to be seen!”

 

“Maybe he has to practice for his important sword fight tomorrow?” Milady de Winter mocked.       

 

        The Queen was not at her King’s side and Milady was completely in her element. She was flirting with the King and Porthos had to brace himself in order not to be angry and throw her out of the room, the palace, Paris and France … Was she a threat to the King? He doubted it. She was there where she could gain power and money. So as a court-lady she would be able to gain both of it. He truly hoped that the King would not consider her as a mistress.

 

_ This woman has nearly destroyed Athos. And now she is back. As much as Aramis can trust her, I can’t and I never will trust her! She is poison! _

 

        Porthos was disturbed in his thoughts as one of the huge doors of the room was opened by a page. Rochefort hurried into the hall and bowed slightly in the direction of the King.

 

“Excuse me your Majesty! I had to rearrange some important business with the Red Guards, I have discussed that with Captain Tréville, my guards will help tomorrow with the safety of the summit feast. The Musketeers will guard you inside the doors and the Red Guards in the gardens.”

 

“That is an excellent idea, Rochefort! I like it when both of my Captains work together. So have you prepared yourself for the opening ceremony tomorrow?” King Louis wanted to know. Rochefort smiled at his King.

 

_ Toady! _ Porthos thought barely able to keep his mouth closed. 

 

“Do you really think I need to prepare myself?” He asked confidently.

 

“Well, you’d better consider it!” Shouted the man that just entered the hall followed by d’Artagnan.   

 

“Oh, Victor, don’t shout around so loud in my palace. You will wake up my little boy!” Louis chided his brother-in-law.

 

“Really, your boy is with my wife right now and they are in the quarters of the Queen which are on the other side of the palace, Louis! I only wanted to let my opponent know that I will prepare myself for this fight!” The Duke of Savoy turned around and spotted d’Artagnan.

 

“Hey, Musketeer, I will need your help this afternoon?”

 

“Whose? Mine?” D’Artagnan looked astonished at the Duke of Savoy.

 

“Yes yours! I know that Musketeers are good sword fighters. At least I had that humiliating experience last year. Isn’t that true Louis?” Savoy addressed his brother-in-law.

 

“Well, if you recall it correctly Victor, you asked Athos for this duel!” Louis corrected him.

 

“You have to lend me that young man this afternoon. I will practice with him in your gardens.” He laughed out loud.

 

“He is one of my finest Musketeers!” King Louis praised d’Artagnan. “Be aware that he will win against you. He looks thin and weak, but he is a true fighter. A true warrior for his King and France!” Louis continued, well aware that the young Gascon had saved his life several weeks ago.

 

“We will see this afternoon!” Savoy said confident.

 

“D’Artagnan, make me proud this afternoon!” Louis said looking in his direction.

 

“I will do my best, your Majesty!” He bowed slightly. 

 

        Then d’Artagnan looked at the Duke of Savoy. 

 

“When and where do you want to meet with me?” 

 

        The Duke gave him more details. D’Artagnan bowed again and walked to the place next to Porthos without saying a word, but his look told his big friend enough. His younger friend would try to find out more about the Duke.

 

“So, if you advise me to practice too, your Majesty, I will need the afternoon off.” Rochefort told the King. “As far as I know, Captain Tréville will come to talk about latest security details this afternoon.” He added.

 

“Of course, take your time and practice with your Red Guards. I am sure Tréville will have all the information I need!” The King told him.     

 

_**To be continued...** _


	30. Aramis, don’t do this again, please

⚔⚔

 

**_Tréville’s office_ **

 

“I already told Aramis last night, I really doubt that the Duke of Savoy has anything to do with me being ill. Why? Revenge for a duel he had asked for? This sounds ridiculous.” Athos shook his head.

 

“Maybe you heard him talking about a secret plot against Louis? About some plans that he wants to attack or raise an army with the help of Spain against our King?” Tréville tried.

 

       Athos took a few sips of cold water from a cup he was holding in his hands. The water helped to cool his still irritated throat.

 

“I would have told you such an important detail, wouldn’t I?” Athos sounded a bit confused. He tried to remember, but the whole of the last week was a huge mystery for his tired head right now.

 

“I am … sorry … but I don’t recall such a talk.” Athos slowly said.

 

“If you recall the moments you have seen the Duke at the palace last week, how would you describe him.” Tréville tried a last time, noticing that Athos had problems remembering.

 

“I … hmm … he was angry, agitated about the King’s behaviour. He …” Athos paused.

 

“He what?” Tréville asked, seeing the confusion in Athos’ tired eyes.

 

“He followed Aramis … or was that a dream … I … I honestly don’t know!” Athos got frustrated. 

 

       Angrily he put the cup down on the small table next to the bed. His headache had returned and his vision started to bother him again.

 

“It’s alright!” He heard Tréville’s soft voice from the distance. “You should lie down again. Your body still needs a lot of rest …”

 

“I don’t want to rest, to sleep, I want answers!” Athos angrily shouted. “I need to do something. Sitting or lying around here all day isn’t helpful for me right now!” Frustrated he covered his face with his hands.

 

       Tréville stood up.

 

“Come!” He invited Athos. “Pull on your boots. You need fresh air. Outside the sun is shining. We can discuss in the courtyard and watch some of the recruits training.” He decided.

 

“That’s better …”

 

“That’s better than frustrating yourself here.” Tréville smiled.

 

       Athos slowly put on his boots that Tréville had handed him.

 

“So, what’s the newest gossip at court?” Athos tried to weaken his outburst, while he shakingly stood up.

 

“Oh, you will like to hear that.” Tréville smiled. Ready to offer his swaying Lieutenant a supporting hand. “The Duke of Savoy and Rochefort are going to fight a duel tomorrow at the opening ceremony of the feast.”

 

“Really? I never expected Rochefort to do such a thing.” Athos mumbled. 

 

       Taking several steps further. Tréville who stood behind him fetched Porthos’ blanket and laid it around his shoulders. 

 

“It’s still a bit chilly outside. You will need it.” He explained.

 

“Everybody will stare at me.” Athos grumbled.

 

“Not if I order them to look in another direction!” Tréville laughed. “Ready?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

       Athos said and made some more unsteady steps into the direction of the door. He still felt dizzy, but the fresh air would do him good. Tréville walked beside him:

 

“Rochefort with his charming wit had the idea that the Duke could fight against you again, but the Duke told him that after the Musketeers, he would like to challenge the Red Guards.”

 

       Tréville tried to say in a cheerful tone, leaving out all other worrying details.

 

“That sounds more like Rochefort.” Athos mumbled. 

 

       They passed the door and Athos felt sweat on his forehead. 

 

_ Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go out.  _

 

       He swayed heavily and he felt Tréville’s hand at his back.

 

“Easy! We have time, lean on me. There is no reason to be ashamed.” Tréville softly said in his ear. 

 

       And so, they made it very slowly down the stairs. Athos was afraid that his heart would start hammering again, but the itching pain didn’t set in. Exhausted, he sat down on their favourite bench, eyes closed in order to avoid the looks of other Musketeers. Until Tréville ordered them, through a strong stare to move on and stop looking. He felt the sun on his face and he heard Tréville being busy with a tankard.

 

“Here drink!” 

 

       Tréville pressed a cup with water in his hand and Athos followed his order. His agitated breathing from the small walk calmed down. He could hear the noises of the garrison life around him: horses, iron, and talking in the distance. A thought crossed his mind as he opened his eyes and looked into Tréville’s face.

 

“My eyes are much better. I want to come with you to the palace tomorrow. I want to see this nasty Rochefort losing against the Duke of Savoy. The Duke is a very skilled fighter. He will win and …”

 

“And what?”

 

“And maybe you can show me O’Sullivan. He will be there at the feast, right? Then … then I can tell you if I have seen him before ... if he could be the perpetrator.” 

 

       He had listened earlier to the report of Tréville that they had found out that Gallagher and O’Sullivan knew each other, but that they were still investigating. Tréville had only told him the most important facts and had omitted any details of Milady.

 

       Tréville sighed deeply.

 

“Athos your body needs rest. You  can hardly walk, and …”

 

“I will rest today. I will eat and drink and walk around in the courtyard, so that my body gets used to walking again.” Athos stated firmly.

 

       Tréville could hear the seriousness in the voice of his Lieutenant.

 

“Alright, Athos! I will ask Aramis later today. If … and it is still not settled that you can accompany me ... then there are strict conditions.”

 

“I agree to all of them!” Athos said much too fast.

 

“You haven’t heard one of them yet.”

 

“Oh, I can imagine them already: Don’t overdo it. Don’t go anywhere alone and you have to ride in the wagon to the palace!” Athos smiled sheepishly. “Am I right?”

 

       Tréville sighed theatrically. But he was glad that Athos’ will to start his own research was giving him some strength and hope back.

 

“We will see! And now don’t overdo it! I warn you!”         

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_In the meantime at the palace_ **

 

       Aramis hadn’t forgotten about the direct order of Captain Tréville not to approach the Duke of Savoy, so he did what was rare for him. He listened to him. Not that he planned to, he had wanted to join Porthos and d’Artagnan in the throne hall, but as he looked out of one of the windows into the palace’s garden he spotted Marguerite carrying the little Dauphin around.

 

_ My little boy gets bigger from day to day.  _

 

       He smiled at this thought. Then he turned around and descended the stairs leading to a long corridor that brought him directly to the garden. Now and then he stopped, trying to figure out if he was still followed, but he couldn’t hear anything. Outside he enjoyed the fresh, but warm air on his face. He breathed in deeply. The flowers smelled lovely and the sun had finally won its fight against the heavy rain clouds. 

 

_ Just as Athos has won his fight against this devilish poison. _

 

       His little boy was crying and Marguerite tried to calm him. She was still very pale. Like Athos she had a natural pale skin. 

 

_ Most noblemen have. _ He thought. 

 

       He quickly approached her.

 

“Marguerite let me help you!” He insisted. “The little boy must be getting stronger every day. I am sure I can help you with calming him.”

 

       Marguerite was grateful for his help. She still felt weak. Softly Aramis took the little Louis, the next King of France, into his arms and started to hum a nursery rhyme. Smiling at him and making his cross gently sway before the baby’s eyes, he managed to calm him and the crying stopped.

 

“I don’t know how you do it, Aramis, but you have a calming hand for the Dauphin.” 

 

       She took the baby back into her arms, where he slept peacefully.

 

“Marguerite, I need to ask you some further questions.” Aramis started softly so that he wouldn’t wake the boy again.

 

“About what?” She asked.

 

“Let us walk a bit.” He smiled.

 

       So they crossed the gardens. Aramis led Marguerite to a bench which was situated under a tree and they both sat down the little baby boy still sleeping in her arms.

 

“You have made me curious?” Marguerite told Aramis with a soft smile.

 

“I am sorry. It’s just. I need to have some more information about this Irish man O’Sullivan. You know that, we, I mean the Musketeers, are responsible for the security of the King. So we need to check on all the foreign guests of our King too.” He explained.

 

“No wonder, that you have to check on him.” Marguerite nodded understandingly. “He is really strange and I don’t like him.”

 

“Why is that?” Aramis asked her.

 

“He has offered his help to Dr. Lemay, but he is everywhere in the palace, not only with patients of Dr. Lemay. Last week I had to wait two hours for him to bring me my medicine. Another lady-in-waiting has told me that she had seen him talking to so many Red Guards and to Rochefort.”

 

“Well, he is a former soldier and a member of the trade summit, so maybe he is only interested in foreign warfare?” Aramis mused.

 

“It’s not like that. How shall I explain it?”

 

“Just try!”

 

“I have heard court gossip about him, that he is snooping around. He has checked the former quarters of the Cardinal here at the palace. He is opening doors, going around, asking questions about a man, a former friend of him, his name is or was … wait … yes, Gallagher, but I don’t know why he is asking about him. I have heard that he is dead. So maybe he is investigating his death? But this is only a guess.” The young noblewoman explained to Aramis.

 

“What else can you tell me about him?”

 

“He pretends to be a doctor or a medic, but I doubt that. He is cruel, has no real interest in his patients. He was horrible to the young lady-in-waiting, my friend, you know, who died. She was telling him about her pain and he only observed her and didn’t give her anything. He could have given her a pain draught, he could have talked to her. But nothing. And he refused to fetch the doctor as she asked for him. Instead he told her that she should stop complaining. Several hours later she was dead.” She finished in a sob.

 

“Shhh … I’m sorry.” Aramis soothed. He suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched again and he hurried to stand up.

 

“Shall I bring you back to the palace?” Aramis offered.

 

“No, it’s fine. I will stay a little bit longer with the Dauphin here. Thanks to you he is sleeping so peacefully now and the fresh air and spring sun are making me feeling better.”

 

       Aramis excused himself and made his way back to the palace. Well aware that someone was lurking in the dark.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Garrison’s courtyard_ **

 

       Athos closed his eyes as soon as Tréville left. He focused on the sounds of his footsteps. He was sitting on the bench, his back leaning against the hard edge of the table. He squeezed his eyelids turning his face towards the sun and basked in the warmth, listening to the comforting sounds of the busy garrison. Soon, strange shapes looking like spirals, foliage and paisley patterns began to appear on the inside of his eyelids, blue and red on black. His mind wandered following the abstract branches, leaves and roots. As all the colours began to melt and turn orange and as the sun began to make his face feel too hot, he opened his eyes again. He felt a little dizzy as the bright light hit his sensitive pupils. A group of young recruits had stopped their activities and stared at him. He suddenly felt like these old men whom children and young boys liked to tease and mock, even if they had been brilliant and strong people in their young time. He glared at the recruits who immediately turned around and went back to their duties, their smile erased by the icy gaze.

 

       Athos stood up his upper lip twitching in a small smile. He had to lean on the table to stop the brief dizziness. Spending a week between bed, armchair and bathtub wasn’t a good idea! When the dizziness faded away, he started to move slowly around the courtyard, in the shadows of the balcony, stables and high walls. He had reached the other side of the courtyard, when he had to stop. Cursing his weakness, he leaned against a pillar, his hand tightening on the rough wood. He could feel his heart beating faster in his chest and he had to calm his breathing. Sweat was glistening on his forehead. He tried to calm down again and focused his mind a moment on two cadets who seemed to be arguing about a bridle. It made him smile fondly until he noticed a movement under the balcony, opposite to the pillar he had chosen. He squinted a little to try to see clearly … It was just a shadow … He thought that his eyes had played tricks on him so he continued his boring walk. Soon, the heat made him thirsty, so he decided to make his way towards the well. His legs felt much stronger but he feared that he would pay for this short trip in the evening, his muscles were not accustomed to the slightest effort anymore. The bucket was on the edge of the well, full of fresh water. He took the wooden ladle and was about to drink when he noticed the black shadow out of the corner of his eye again. 

 

_ Am I becoming crazy? I see shadows everywhere.  _

 

       He looked thoughtfully at the ladle and gave up drinking without a real reason. Maybe just because one poisoning a week was enough and this shadow had stressed his fragile nerves, so, he came back slowly to the table.

 

       He sat down gratefully at the same place and closed his eyes again, comforted by the buzzing activity of his fellow musketeers around him, feeling -maybe wrongly- safe. Soon, the sun began to make him doze again. Porthos’ blanket, he had wrapped himself in again, slipped from his shoulders. The sounds melted in a vague droning, he breathed deeply, enjoying the smell of the water that a stable lad had spilled on the dust of the courtyard, the smell of the burnt hooves in the smithy and … and the smell of rose water? Eyes still closed he sniffed. Rose and soap and something else. He knew this smell, but he didn’t have the time to think further about it as he felt a warm breath on his cheek. His breath caught in his throat but he relaxed.

 

“Aramis, don’t do this again, please.” He grumbled.

 

“Do what?” Aramis exclaimed looking outraged.

 

“Don’t kiss me again.” Athos said, voice dangerous, but a mischievous glint in his now open eyes.

 

       A loud metallic noise made him jump and he really thought that his heart would stop. He felt a tense feeling in his chest, but it eased at once. His eyes widened and he turned around nervously. Aramis sat down next to him and curled an arm around his shoulder.

 

“Hey, Athos, don’t be so nervous, you are safe here.” He soothed him. “And you, Porthos, try to be a little more … how could I say it … delicate … Put your sword down with delicacy instead of dropping it like a brute?”

 

“Delicate? Aramis, have you seen me. Really, do you think that delicate can fit with my body?” Porthos laughed filling a cup with fresh water and handing it to Athos, then he sat down on his other side. 

 

       Athos was quiet, too quiet, even for him. He stared at the walls opposite to the bench and tried to pierce the shadows where the figure had appeared, or at least where he thought that a figure had appeared. His hands were tightly clasped and he frantically rubbed at the knuckles of his left hand with his right thumb.  Aramis lifted his arm and squeezed his friend’s neck.

 

“Athos, what is it?”

 

“I am not sure …” Athos answered in a trembling voice.

 

“Did you see something? Someone?” Aramis was more and more worried.

 

“A man … a figure … I’m sorry … I don’t know … It’s the sun … I think … or the air … I’m not used to it anymore. Sorry, my friends, I am a burden.” He said with a slightly broken voice.

 

“Hey, Athos, none of that. You are not a burden and if you were, you would be a very light burden. Look at you, you are nearly as thin as the boy, but as pale as the Queen.” Porthos smiled, his large hand squeezing Athos’ thigh.

 

Aramis was still looking at him anxiously, his dark and well defined eyebrows nearly touching as he frowned deeply. 

 

“Athos, do you want to go back inside?” He asked softly.

 

“Yes, I think it would be better. I only manage to make a fool of myself in the courtyard.” Athos breathed out with a snort.

 

“Athos, stop that. You are not a fool, and I fear that you are right. It’s plausible that someone is spying on us, on you … I … sometimes … feel like I’m being followed or watched too …” Aramis whispered, his hand now on Athos’ wrist trying to comfort his friend and himself by the soft touch.

 

“Hey, my friends, you are becoming quite nervous. You will soon manage to scare me.” Porthos tried to joke, but he was frowning and his eyes wandered around the courtyard.  “Let’s take our dearest burden back to his room.” He added, sliding his hand under Athos’ elbow.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A little bit earlier in the courtyard_ **

 

_ Now, here he is. Good, they are focused on him. Musketeers, ha ha! The famous King’s Guard, so easily tricked. They didn't see me coming. I just had to slip in the courtyard while a wagon was entering it. Then, it was so easy to hide in the shadows of the high walls and the balconies. This weather is a good thing. Shadows are so contrasting, I can blend with the dark walls while they are blinded by the bright light flowing into the courtyard. _

_ But the man is on alert, even in his poor state, he is on alert. He was right to warn me about him. I cheated on the others, but even in his state, barely able to walk, to see and to talk, he feels my presence. I should hide better. _

 

_ Yes, good, look at me … I want to see your face ... Where is the fierce warrior? Now, look at you, a light breeze could break you … But not enough … Why aren’t you dead? He should have let me do it in my own way … But he wanted to use his own methods … Something more discreet and sneaky ... He wanted to see him suffer, to see him die in a slow and painful way. _

_ Now, my prey is moving, like an old man … It would be so easy to plunge a blade in his kidneys … or in his exposed throat …  _

 

_ But it’s not my job … He only told me to report … He will be furious … He was so sure he would win … But now, it will be more difficult … If I am right that this man is on the mend, he will be suspicious … What are you doing? Oh, you are thirsty! But … why aren’t you drinking? Oh, alright, you are indeed suspicious … Poison, you fear poison … but don’t worry, we won’t make the same mistake twice … You will die, believe me … you will die … But not like that …  _

 

_ Damn, he isn’t that blind, he saw me … Time to flee … time to report …  _

 

_**To be continued...** _  


 


	31. Two Stubborn Mules

⚔⚔

 

        As Captain Tréville returned from the palace, he was greeted by his medic sitting on a chair in the corner of the landing, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his feet on the bannister in one of his favourite casual postures. He was reading a book. The two guards Tréville had positioned earlier in front of his office were nowhere to be seen. Seeing his Captain approaching, Aramis stood up in the attitude of a child caught by his father. He laid the leather bound book on the chair.

 

“Where are the guards?” Tréville asked irritatedly and a bit worried. His mouth slightly opened.

 

“I told them to take a break. Athos is inside sleeping, so I didn’t want to bother him. He …”

 

“He what ...?”

 

“Well … he needs some time for himself so I decided to give him space and watch here from the outside.”

 

        As they had brought Athos back earlier he was very tired, nervous, but nevertheless convinced that he could go to the palace the next day and he had told them so. Aramis had argued with him to wait longer, but the now stronger Comte had started a fight with him expressing that he would be strong enough to go to  _ le Louvre _ and to find out on his own who had tried to kill him. Their debating became louder and louder. Two stubborn mules, staring angrily at each other, one in need of protecting his sick brother, the other in need of figuring out what was going on.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Several hours earlier_ **

 

“Aramis, I don’t want to fight with you. Why can’t you see that this is important for me?” Athos sat on Tréville’s bed, his back against the wall. He felt dizzy, from the walk back into the room. He had just told them about his plan to join them the next day at the palace.

 

“I do understand your wish, Athos! I know that it is important for you to find answers, but I’m not sure if you will get these tomorrow.” Aramis said in a much too loud voice. 

 

        Athos squeezed his eyes shut, a sign that his headache was returning. The medic stood in front of his friend, his arms on his hips.

 

“Aramis, I won’t stay long … I …” He hesitated. “I only want to see, if I know this O’Sullivan?”

 

He noticed that his voice was trembling and his throat started hurting him again. Slowly he reached for the cup of water and took a few gulps.

 

“Don’t you think I would remember him too?” Aramis asked still in an angry tone. “I was  with you at the convent and as a sharpshooter I have good eyes. You can trust me on this one. He was not there!”

 

“I do trust you, Aramis!” Athos was frustrated. 

 

_ Why can’t Aramis see … why can’t he understand? _

 

        He felt so helpless, so watched, so frightened … and he wanted to change that. He didn’t want to be the victim anymore.

 

“Athos, please, all I am saying is that you need rest. Your body is still very weak. We … I … nearly …” Aramis turned away from his still bedridden brother. 

 

        He felt the salty tears burning in his eyes and he blinked them fast away. With the back of his hand he wiped them angrily away. Athos had gone quiet. The emotional state of Aramis bothered him, hurt him. He felt the dizziness coming back and he knew that he had to lie down. His hands started to shake. With the remaining strength he could offer he answered in a very stubborn but low tone:

 

“If you won’t help me in this, I will go alone. It is settled, no further discussion needed.” 

 

        Athos let his head drop on his pillow, he laid down flat on his back and frustratedly closed his eyes. The dizziness had returned and he tried to fight not to lose the small portion of his lunch. His breathing started to get heavier. Aramis had only heard the words. 

 

“I will do it alone!” 

 

        He didn’t register that Athos was fighting with his weak state of health. He stepped nearer to him.

 

“Stop turning away from me you stubborn mule! You will not go, because I don’t want to see you collapsing in the throne hall in front of the King, Rochefort and the whole court.”

 

        Athos couldn’t answer him anymore. He was too occupied calming his nerves. In the end it was Porthos who went between both his brothers. He had watched the whole angered discussion from the back. Deciding that it was enough as he heard Athos’ heavily breathing and saw Aramis’ agitated state, while the latter was trying to tell his stubborn brother that he was in no condition to go to the palace.

 

“Whoa whoa  … both of you! Aramis, enough! Can’t you see that Athos isn’t well?” Porthos shouted and Athos groaned loud. “I think we should talk about that later! Athos, you need rest right now.” Porthos said in a softer voice to his friend. “Aramis be quiet! Sit down on this chair and read a book. I have to go back to the palace.” He growled. “ So stop behaving like little children. I am too old for that!”

 

        A look at Athos’ weak state of health had brought Aramis back to his senses. As he wanted to sit down. Athos only glared at him.

 

“I … want … to be … alone ...” He panted heavily still very emotionally agitated due to the fight with words against Aramis.

 

“Very well, my friend. I will wait outside. Rest! Sleep! And that is the order from me to you as your medic!” Aramis had grabbed his book and left the office, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

 

        Several minutes later Porthos had followed him.

 

“He is sleeping now. I have given him his pistol. Try to calm down! And give him some space!”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜         

 

**_Present time_ **

 

        Aramis shook his head as he tried to forget about the fight he had had with Athos.

 

“Captain, we need to talk!” Aramis slowly said.

 

“Why? Is Athos worse again?” He asked with concern in his voice.

 

“No, ... not that I am aware of.” Aramis paused. “But …”

 

“But what …” Tréville became uneasy and moved towards his office door but Aramis blocked his way.

 

“I doubt that it’s such a good idea that Athos comes with us tomorrow. He is not fit for duty and you know that!” He angrily emphasised. 

 

        The anger from earlier which was emerging again was now directed against Tréville. On the one hand he knew that the stubborn behaviour of the Comte wasn’t Tréville’s fault, on the other hand Aramis knew that an order from Tréville would stop Athos.

 

“Wait, Aramis!” Tréville tried to calm his medic. “Come!” He guided him away from the door leading to his office. “I am not sure what Athos has told you …” Tréville paused. Then he continued. “He has expressed the wish earlier and I told him that I will ask you first. So nothing is decided yet.” He sighed out loud. Concern was plastered on his face. “So, it will be your decision. Aramis! Go and check on him. But before you do that, I should tell you, what Dr. Lemay has told me and what my conditions are, if … if you allow him to come with us.” Aramis listened to Tréville. 

 

“I am not sure if allowing him to go is the right decision. Honestly I doubt it. But I think that Athos needs answers and maybe seeing the Duke of Savoy winning against Rochefort will give him some strength to recover faster and he could tell us if he has seen O’Sullivan before.” Tréville closed his report.

 

“Still, I don’t like it!” Aramis grumpled. “But I will go now and check on him and I will listen to the wishes of our patient ...” He sighed.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_In the meantime at the palace_ **

 

“So which of the these four dresses would be best for the feast tomorrow? I have asked some of my court-ladies earlier, but they never tell me the truth.” Queen Anne paused a moment, remembering her late friend from Spain.

 

“Maybe I shall wear black. She was family.” Queen Anne said more to herself than to Constance.

 

“Pardon?” Constance had listened to Queen Anne only halfheartedly. They were still all in mourning. However, Constance had just thought about her meeting with d’Artagnan earlier that day. She had rarely seen him so sad, so frustrated, not since the bad news of his farm had arrived. 

 

“Constance?” Queen Anne looked with her pale blue eyes into Constance’s daydreaming face. “What is it?”

 

“I don’t want to bother you with my problems.” Constance answered slowly.

 

“You do know that I see you as a dear friend, a friend I can trust. So, if there is anything you want to tell me ... Do you want a day off to mourn? Is it that?”

 

“That is very kind of you, your Majesty. But it’s not that.”

 

“What is it then?”

 

“I … I have met d’Artagnan this morning …”

 

“Oh, I see, is it still complicated between the both of you?”

 

        Constance sighed.

  
“No, I think … I think it’s getting better. Maybe we can be friends again …”

 

“Oh, I knew that he would step forward and apologise to you.” The Queen whispered delighted. 

 

“It’s not that either.”

 

“So, Constance, what is it then. Speak to me.” Queen Anne started to get impatient. She was wondering what was troubling her friend.

 

“It’s Athos!”

 

“Oh my goodness, please don’t tell me that he …” Anne got pale. “Not him too. This flu is so devilish.”

 

“No, no he is … better!” Constance expressed.

 

“Thank God!” Anne exclaimed. “So come sit with me and tell me everything. Maybe I can help our brave Athos.”

 

        So the two women sat down on a blue silk covered bench in front of the Queen’s bed.

 

“The King, your husband, wants to see Athos tomorrow as a palace guard. But he’s still very weak and D’Artagnan is afraid that he won’t be able to fulfil his duty.”

 

“Oh, my husband can be so careless sometimes. I will talk to him or much better, if Athos really should appear tomorrow I will talk to him and order him to leave his post and return to the garrison and rest there.” The Queen decided.

 

“Thank you very much! I really appreciate your help.

 

“So, after this is settled, which dress shall I  wear …”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Aramis watched Tréville leaving, his pace was slow and tired. Then he retrieved his book from the chair and closed it. He took a moment to run his fingers on the embossed leather. He wound the ribbon bookmark around his forefinger and stared at a point on the wall opposite. He tried to calm his breathing. He hated these awkward situations, he hated hurting his brother, but he was so stubborn … He tried to think of how he could have persuaded him, but his mind didn’t work. The heated tiles above his head made him sweat. A week earlier, May had been disguised in February and now, May looked like August … He sucked in a deep breath and turned toward the closed door. He tucked his book under his arm and carefully turned the knob of the door. 

        Athos was in a semi-upright position. His head lolling against the headboard, his eyes closed, he was obviously dozing.

 

 _Fit enough to go to the palace tomorrow. Yes you are, Athos,_ _it’s obvious._

 

He gingerly put a foot on the floor of the Captain’s office and stopped. 

 

_ Athos, if you could see your face, you would agree with me. You can’t even cross the courtyard without stumbling and yet you want to stand a whole day at the palace. How can I dissuade you? _

 

“You can’t!” Athos grumbled.

 

        Aramis jumped.

 

“I … I … What? I can’t what?”

 

“You can’t persuade me to stay in bed tomorrow.” Athos clarified, opening his pale eyes, a barely visible smile on his lips.

 

“How?” 

 

“I can read your thoughts without opening my eyes. Sit down, please.” Athos patted the bed beside him. “I just wish I could make you understand why I need to do this, why it’s so important, why …” 

 

“I understand.” Aramis whispered still standing, his hands clasped around the small book, his forefinger still playing with the bookmark, his eyes fixed on the floor.

 

“Come on, sit down and leave that book alone.” Athos tried, looking up at his stressed friend, lifting a hand in an inviting gesture.

 

        Suddenly, Athos ripped away the too hot blanket from the bed and sat, cross-legged, his back against the wall under the high window.  

 

“Stop being as stubborn as I am, Aramis, come here, talk to me.” Athos pleaded.

 

“I … I am …”

 

“Sorry, yes I know. But can’t you be sorry here? You make me feel dizzy standing here like a punished schoolboy.” A small smile appeared on Athos’ lips.

 

        At last, Aramis moved. He slowly approached the bed and sat down next to his friend, and laughed.

 

“You are incorrigible, Athos. I even think you will argue with  _ Saint Pierre _ about the quality of his keys or the wisdom of his choices.”

 

“So … ?”

 

“So what?” Aramis asked looking straight at him for the first time.

 

“Did I pass the test?”

 

Aramis burst out in laughter. 

 

“No, but as usual you are going to do as you wish. Am I wrong?”

 

“No you aren’t, Aramis …” Athos admitted.

 

“Still, there is something wrong.”

 

“What?” Athos exclaimed, ready to argue again.

 

“You hair!”

 

“My hair?” Athos asked unconsciously scratching at his scalp.

 

“Tangled, greasy, too long. I could … you know …” Aramis hesitated.

 

“So, do it!” Athos smiled.

 

“Alright, but how will we proceed?” Aramis mused.

 

“Please, do it here. I don’t want to go to the bathroom.”

 

“Alright. Stay here for a moment. I will prepare everything.”

 

“And please, Aramis, no rosewater.” Athos called back as Aramis left the room.

 

He heard his friend’s shout from the balcony. 

 

“Athanase, Modeste, come here, guard duty on the balcony. Now!”

 

Athos waited, closing his eyes, enjoying the quiet loneliness, the feeling of his body  slowly returning to better health, of his mind thinking more clearly, his heartbeat more even, his breath deep and calm.  The door burst open and Aramis entered, a cadet in tow. They settled a large tub on the floor and two buckets full of water. Aramis took out of his pocket a soap, a brush and a thin sharp blade.

 

“No, no way, I won’t have a bath!” Athos grumbled crossing his arms on his chest.

 

“No, you won’t, even if you need it, but I count on you to wash your stinky body before presenting yourself before the King.”

 

        Aramis settled the tub behind the low stool where he beckoned Athos to come and sit. Athos obeyed a little surprised and sat down clumsily on the too low seat.

 

“I will try not to drown you, but you should put your head back while I wash this disgusting bush.”

 

        Then the process began. Aramis took his time, massaging his friend’s scalp and beard. Athos closed his eyes, leaning into the touch of the calming nimble fingers. He jumped when Aramis stopped and poured on his head half a bucket of warm clear water.

 

“Ah, Aramis!” Athos growled. “Is this a revenge? Are you really trying to drown me?”

 

“Mmmmh … let me think … perhaps.” Aramis answered mischievously.

 

        He had to wash and rinse at least thrice to be sure that the waved locks regained their brightness. Water sloshed all around them and their clothes were drenched. 

 

“Well, I think I am bathed now. My stinky body isn’t stinky anymore.” Athos sighed feeling suddenly slightly dizzy.

 

Aramis dragged the tub he had used to receive the soiled water next to the door and approached a chair from Athos’ back. 

 

“You better remove your shirt now …”

 

        Athos did as commanded and Aramis wrapped the now nearly frail shoulders in a large towel. He could see the rash on Athos’ chest, still red and slightly swollen. 

 

_ It must still hurt you.  _ But Aramis ignored his wish to ask him.  _ Later, later I will put on more honey salve. _

 

        The mere move of removing his shirt had brought a million of silver moving stars to Athos’s eyes. It was like the turning sails of tiny windmills. He briefly closed his eyelids, fighting this dizziness and he began to fear the moment when he would have to rise from the low stool, but Aramis began to massage his hair with a soft and perfumed towel and he relaxed a little. At once, his long locks began to curl. 

 

“Beautiful.” Aramis commented. “But too long. Do you wish me to cut your hair first or your beard?”

 

“My … ?”

 

“Yes your beard. You look like a peasant.” Aramis laughed. 

 

        So he moved his chair and began to trim his friend’s beard. Athos couldn’t see the result but he feared that his beard would be a target of Aramis’ revenge too. For his part, Aramis just enjoyed taking care of his friend in the quietness of the warm room, in the smell of lavender, and savoured this intimate and friendly moment, just the two of them. Athos seemed to doze again. Aramis moved his chair behind him and started to even the long and thick hair. Athos was pliant under his hand and he leaned on Aramis knees using them as a back for his uncomfortable seat, a sign that he was beginning to become tired, so Aramis tried to finish quickly. When he was satisfied, he finished his work by brushing Athos’ hair. Athos breathed deeply and suddenly jumped.

 

“You did it, you traitor!” He growled.

 

“I did what?” Aramis asked in a perfect innocent tone rising from his chair and admiring his work.

 

“You did it. You put rosewater on my hair. I hate you.” Athos replied, biting his lower lip in order to suppress his smile.

 

“Yes, I did, but now, you passed the test. I allow you to go to the palace tomorrow.”

 

With these words and an evil grin, he bent towards Athos who pushed him away half-heartedly. 

 

“Aramis. Behave!” Athos cried with a dark look belied by his fond smile.

 

        But as Aramis didn’t step back, Athos raised his head to look straight into his friend’s eyes, his expression suddenly very serious, until their foreheads touched.

 

“Thank you, my friend.” Athos whispered closing his eyes.


	32. Less talking and more fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments. Here is a new chapter with the help of our two good angels Beth and Helensg. ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

 

**_Palace gardens, afternoon_ **

 

        The two adversaries slowly turned around each other, sword in their right hands,  _ main-gauches _ raised ready to block an attack. The Duke’s clear blue eyes shone with determination and a glint of arrogance, the same he had when he had fought Athos a year before. Both men were much younger than him, so he was certain that, with the help of long experience, he would win in less than five minutes. He had been wrong about Athos’ inferiority, but with this barely adult young man, he had no doubts. It would be an easy training. His eyes as cold and feral as a wolf’s eyes looked straight into the velvety brown eyes in a attempt to intimidate his adversary. Suddenly, he sprang towards d’Artagnan who made an elegant and nimble move to avoid the shining blade. Surprised, the Duke stumbled slightly as his body betrayed him. He was a heavy and strong lion, but this young man was a ferret, slim, lithe and prompt. The two of them again started their dance without breaking eye contact. Savoy began to wonder if, in spite of the use of these blunt blades, this young Musketeer didn’t have the will to kill him. He could see such a rage in his face and eyes. Why?

 

_ A rage I have seen last year on Athos’ face. Oh, this arrogant Musketeer! He should have had the courtesy of not drawing blood as I was lying on the floor, next to the feet of the King of France. Athos, I will find a way to teach you a lesson, a bitter lesson.  _ Savoy thought a devilish smile on his face. 

 

        Here was a man who sought revenge in private and someone who didn’t forget so easily. He had no time to think any longer about his plans against Athos as the young man lunged at him in a graceful move. He turned on himself and thrust again, lightly grazing the Duke’s arm.

 

“Try not to forget your rank, young man.” He said breathless and contemptuous. “I asked you to train with me, not to kill me for some mysterious personal reason I am not aware of!”

 

_ This young man reminds me a lot of this Athos … This swordsman tried to kill me last year, and, as I confronted him he denied it but his tongue and speech was arrogant. “What reason might a Musketeer have to kill you?” Ha ... arrogant towards me, the Duke of Savoy. As the leader of an important country and confederate of France! Of course I have found out that he is a Comte, a nobleman. Maybe a common man I can forgive, but this behaviour was inexcusable! He will suffer. Oh yes, he will! _

 

“Very well, My Lord. I will … behave …” D’Artagnan answered with a wicked smile and immediately lunged for a new attack.  

 

        This time, the Duke who had taken advantage of his short pause to gather his strength, parried effectively, nearly ripping the sword from d’Artagnan’s hand. Both men began to sweat heavily, their shirts now drenched under the warm spring sunshine. Quickly regaining his composure and after testing the rolling of the gravel under the sole of his worn out boots - at least it wasn’t a slippy parquet floor this time-, d’Artagnan sucked in a deep breath, sneered, showing his white teeth as if ready to bite and lunged again.

 

_ He is brilliant. _ Tréville thought, watching the two men dance from the shadows of a gallery outside the palace.  _ One of the best. Athos had noticed it the first time they met. And what a meeting!        _

 

        The fight stopped, both swordsmen needing a moment to rest and drink. Two pages hurried to them with crystal goblets on a tray and white embroidered towels. They drank and wiped their sweaty foreheads all the while fighting with their eyes. Savoy dismissed the two young servants with an irritated gesture. They retreated under the tree where they had been assigned.   Now, the two men were facing each other again. D’Artagnan executed a series of elegant moves, turning his sword and main-gauche in his hands like a juggler.

 

“More fight, less spectacle.” The Duke growled.

 

“At your orders, My Lord.” D’Artagnan snarled lunging again.

 

        The Duke brilliantly parried his thrust and straightened his back, staying at a safe distance from his adversary, an expression of pure delight and superiority displayed on his red face. The contrast of his pale blue eyes on his overheated skin made them even more icy. D’Artagnan cursed inwardly.

 

_ I will show you how a Musketeer fights. It was just the first course of your damn feast, My Lord. Enjoy! _

 

He let the Duke approach, moving like a cat around the heavy man who was trying to figure out how he could hit the young man, and hit him painfully. 

 

_ I am so done with the arrogant behaviour of these Musketeers!  _ The Duke thought angrily.

 

“What are you playing at, Musketeer?” The Duke barked.

 

_ Is d’Artagnan training him for the next ball? _ Tréville thought amused. 

 

“Training you, My Lord.” D’Artagnan answered with a bow.

 

“Are you mocking me?”

 

“You must be ready for every eventuality. Mocking, teasing, menacing … argh … Good move, My Lord!” D’Artagnan said as the Duke thrusted effectively, his sword making a small hole in d'Artagnan's shirtsleeve.

 

_ Ah! And Athos will be next. But first this nasty Rochefort. He wants the free place as First Minister the Cardinal had, but with him in this position I will have even more problems with Louis and France than I have now. _

 

“Who do you think you are, Musketeer? And what are you doing? Don’t use that look on me!”

 

“As you wish My Lord, but it seems to work on your abilities.” D’Artagnan smiled to ease the tension and allow him to try to better figure out the character.

 

“So, less talking and more fighting!” Savoy replied, lunging again.

 

_ Brilliant, d’Artagnan. You are tiring him. Good. I wish Athos was there to see you.  _ Tréville mused. 

 

“So you will fight Rochefort. Why did you choose not to fight Athos?” D’Artagnan asked parrying a new attack with his usual grace. 

 

_ Can this Musketeer read my mind? _

 

“None of your business, young man.”

 

“Athos is my best friend, so yes, I think it’s my business.” D’Artagnan replied, his eyes blackened, pupils wide in spite of the bright light.

 

“So you should thank me. I don’t fight a dying Musketeer. He has the flu, hasn’t he?” The Duke snarled, making the young man even more angry. 

 

        The smirk on Savoy’s lips revealed his perfect white teeth.

 

_ Head over heart _ . D’Artagnan could still hear Athos’ rumbling voice.

 

“Alright. And why did you chose him last year?”

 

“What are you doing? Is this a questioning?” The Duke asked breathless, stumbling on a stone.

 

He straightened and tried to attack again, but his strength was vanishing and the mesmerising dance of his feline adversary made him dizzy. D’Artagnan thrust a last time, taking advantage of the short hesitation of the Duke. The latter tried to parry, took a few steps backwards and fell on his back, the point of a sword kissing the palpitating artery of his throat. 

 

“May I give you advice, My Lord? I learnt it from a far better swordsman than me.”

 

_ And better than you, My Lord. _ He thought.

 

“As you wish, but I reserve the right not to listen to it.” The Duke replied in a contemptuous tone.

 

“Very well, then I won’t tell you!” D’Artagnan bowed into the direction of the Duke.

 

_ Head over heart, my Lord. _ D’Artagnan thought.  _ Head over heart. _

 

        Straightening and nervously brushing his soiled trousers, the Duke threw his sword onto the gravel, the clattering sound making the two pages jump and Tréville smiled proudly.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ One day this boy will be better than Athos!  _ Porthos grinned.

 

        He was watching the fight between the Duke of Savoy and d’Artagnan from the second floor of the palace. Tréville had sent him to bring some important papers from Rochefort’s office. Due to the fact that the blonde Comte had decided to take the afternoon off, Tréville would be on his own with his final preparations. Porthos had the feeling that their Captain was not that unhappy with this arrangement. He heard quiet footsteps behind him.          

 

“You do know that my husband is a good swordfighter!” The Duchess of Savoy greeted him with a shy but warm smile. “It’s good to see you again, Porthos!” She continued.

 

“My Lady!” Porthos bowed. “It is good to see you again in Paris.” He told her politely.

 

“Oh, how I have missed my home. But thanks to you and your friends I can still have a happy marriage and visit from time to time.”

 

“I never doubted that.” Porthos answered with a warm smile on his lips.

 

“You know, my husband, isn’t always like that. He simply … he doesn’t like to be in Paris, here in the palace. In his country he is a respected leader, but here he is only one nobleman amongst many. And he knows that my brother tricked him last year.”

 

“You don’t have to explain anything!” Porthos told her.

 

“But I want you ... I want you to understand. My husband is a very proud man. When he had the fight with your friend Athos last year, he felt insulted by Athos beating him but he would never admit that …”

 

“But it was his idea?” Porthos told her. “He suggested  _ who will draw blood first _ !”

 

“He never expected Athos being such a good swordsman. He underestimated him.”

 

“He is the best in our regiment!” Porthos told her with pride in his voice.

 

“Victor has found out about it the hard way. I wished your friend would have been more generous.”

 

“So it isn’t a very pleasant stay for your husband? Bad memories are returning?” Porthos asked the Duchess.

 

“For me it is, it is lovely to see my brother, my little nephew and Queen Anne again. I have missed my home, but for him it’s different. He is counting the days …” She stopped as she heard a sword clattering. She looked out of the window. Seeing her husband defeated again by a Musketeer.

 

        Porthos smiled brightly:

 

“Ha, this is our youngest Musketeer. Athos is a very good teacher!”

 

“You Musketeers are really my brother’s best soldiers.” She said with pride. “But my poor husband. Oh, he will be furious. I really pray that he will win against Comte Rochefort tomorrow or his mood will be worse than before. It is good that Athos isn’t here.”

 

        Porthos didn’t say anything else. He just listened.

 

“Oh, I am sorry I didn’t mean that …” Lady Christine hurried to say. “I have heard that he is sick, I  hope he is better by now, please send him my kindest regards.”

 

“Yes, he is. Thank you very much.” Porthos wanted to move on.

 

“I am sorry, I have to fetch some documents for my Captain, but allow me one question?”

 

“Of course!”

 

“Why is your husband so angry at Athos? Is it something personal?” He tried to ask the question as neutral as possible.

 

“Oh, he simply hates to lose. He was never good at that.” She laughed. “He can be very angry, but most of the time it is only angry words or thoughts, but rarely angry deeds. Have a good day.” 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

        Although Milady loved being the latest mistress of King Louis - with her new status she had everything back she had missed in the past few months: wealth, power, entertainment and job - she was bored. Louis was more interested in his trade summit than anything else right now. She still had to figure out his moody temper in order to find a way to stay at the palace as long as possible. She had tried to discuss politics with him, but as soon as Rochefort was around, she had found out that her opinion wasn’t important anymore. After she had watched the sword training with d’Artagnan and the Duke of Savoy, which wasn’t very entertaining for her at all, because she knew the young Gascon would win, she decided to find out more about O’Sullivan and his possible connection to Gallagher.

 

        She spotted him leaving the palace in a hurried way and decided to follow him through the small and narrow streets of Paris. In these streets it was market day so many merchants and farmers had brought their fresh harvest into the city. Fruit and vegetable stalls were covering the main streets and it was easy for Milady to hide between several of them  and wait, while O’Sullivan was looking boringly at some fresh apples or carrots. Following him was rather easy for Milady and even easier when they arrived in a large place where merchants and peasants had erected their stalls, from simple tables or even upside down crates to large covered stalls. Vegetables, fruit, bread, mouth watering pastries, ribbon and laces, everyone could find something in the market, and above all else, a clever woman following a tall stranger could easily find places where she could hide and observe her prey. 

 

_ Why on earth does he want to buy them? He can eat enough at the palace for free.  _

 

        She was a bit confused, until she realised that he wasn’t only followed by her, but that he himself was following someone. A man, dressed in a black uniform walking at a very fast pace. Now and then he stopped, wondering himself if he was followed. This dangerous man was suspicious by nature. And suddenly Miladay realised who this man was. As he had to wait at a corner to let a carriage pass before crossing a street, she could see his face.

 

_ Rochefort? Shouldn’t he be at the palace and working with the King right now? Or at least didn’t he want to train himself for tomorrow’s fight? _

 

        Now she became curious. She smelled at fresh red roses which a woman wanted to sell her and she silently shook her head, and moved on to the next stand. As Rochefort had crossed the main street, followed by O’Sullivan, who was not that good at his job, both men collided in a small back road.

 

“Why are you following me, Monsieur?” Rochefort asked angrily, as he suddenly turned around. 

 

        O’Sullivan had to stop if he didn’t want to run into him. Milady waited at the corner, a black hood covering her hair made her nearly invisible in this narrow street. Two loud gossiping widows walked by and she couldn’t hear O’Sullivan’s answer. They stopped near both men and continued their loud chatting. Now it was impossible for Milady to hear anything. She couldn’t leave the corner without being noticed by Rochefort, who obviously was the better soldier and observer. So she had to wait. She could see O’Sullivan showing a piece of paper to Rochefort, but Rochefort seemed to be annoyed. He ignored the man and moved on. O’Sullivan had stopped and turned around. Now he was coming back her way and she had to move in order not to be discovered.

 

_ What now? Shall I follow Rochefort? Maybe he knows more about O’Sullivan but as the Captain of the Red Guards he can have an official appointment somewhere near here. Or he may be on his way to the Chatelet. No, I should try and follow O’Sullivan, his behaviour is suspicious. _

 

        She waited a little longer, then as she felt secure that she wasn’t being watched, she hurried after him and O’Sullivan walked back to the palace. As a coach stopped in the middle of the street, next to the entrance of the palace, he had to stop and wait again. Milady was now on the same level as him, but he didn’t notice her. The driver of the carriage wanted to get down from his seat, but the carriage door was already opened.

 

“Do you mind helping me?” An elderly lady asked the waiting O’Sullivan. 

 

        He smiled politely and reached for her hand, while she left the carriage. For a short moment Milady could see O’Sullivan’s hand. There was a tattoo on his right hand. A tattoo showing a little hand. She had seen that sign before. Gallagher and his men had worn this sign as a symbol for their brotherhood, working all for the same Irish nobleman.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜        

 

        Tréville was on his way back to the garrison having just left the King. The final preparations for the great feast were complete and minor details could be organised in the morning. Half an hour earlier the Duke of Savoy had angrily left the palace. His wife hurrying behind him, had asked where he was going and the Duke had only shouted.  _ I need to see something else. I am so tired of this stay, besides I don’t want to see any Musketeer today. I am done with them. With all of them! _ Tréville had to grin, but on the other hand he was concerned that the bitter tone against his men was more than only lifeless words. Savoy was angry that a young man had beaten him but it had only been only a training exercise nothing more. Last year as Athos had fought against him, the whole fight was more humiliating than today. Was the Duke a vengeful person? Has it been his cruel mind and idea to poison Athos? He would have had the means, the opportunity and the chance. He hadn’t had a chance to check his quarter’s because Lady Christine stopped, turned around and went back into the palace. 

 

_ Bad luck today _ ! He told himself.

 

        The Captain was tired, but he was glad that at least this afternoon he had had a very constructive meeting with the King. Without Rochefort around their talk was easier, more friendlier and more productive. As he finally reached the stairs to the exit, he passed Milady.

 

“Captain Tréville! How are you doing?” 

 

        She had stopped and now looked into his blue eyes. She was wearing a blue costume. The latest fashion in Paris. She looked beautiful in it, but Tréville wondered who had paid for it.

 

“Well, thank you!” He answered and wanted to hurry on, but Milady stopped him, placing her hand, clad in a red glove, on his arm.         

 

“Could you do me a small favour?” She purred like a cat and her eyes told him that she had important news for him.

 

“Come with me!” Captain Tréville ordered well aware that they would have less listeners outside of the palace. So she went with him and as they arrived at the stables she waited, while he saddled his horse.

 

“I am wondering how much you can pay me for some interesting news.” Milady started, stroking the neck of his horse.

 

“What about? The trade summit?” Tréville was well aware that she wanted to give him news for their ongoing investigation, but Milady wouldn’t have been Milady, if she hadn’t asked for money.

 

_ Even if you can help Athos. You always think of you first.  _

 

        It was still a mystery to him how an intelligent man could have fallen in love with such a manipulating woman. But that was another story.

 

“You do know what I am talking about, I assume that Aramis has spoken to you?” Tréville sighed.

 

“Yes he has. And I am grateful for your help, but … but I don’t have money to offer you.” He turned away from her.

 

“A woman can try!” Milady mocked. “No, I will reveal it for free as somehow I think I am responsible for the whole mess.” She said regretfully.

 

“What are you referring to?

 

“Gallagher, the attack on the Queen last year, the Cardinal ordered me to help him with his, let’s say _ , little issue _ !

 

        Only Milady could call the mission to kill the Queen of France as a  _ little issue. _ He looked into her pale eyes, sighed deeply and wondered when his next headache would arrive.

 

“So you hired Gallagher and his men?” He concluded.  

 

“Let’s say it was my duty at that time. I wasn’t aware … well maybe I was aware ... that he could have killed Athos …” She admitted. “But this lies in the past. I really want to help.”

 

“So, speak!” Tréville said angrily. “I don’t have time to waste. Not with you! I have important business for the King to do!” He finished saddling his horse and led it out of the stables.

 

        Milady didn’t follow him.

 

“I think they have worked together and I think he is here to avenge his friend.” She stated firmly. Tréville stopped and turned around. His eyes staring coldly at her.

 

“Do you have any proof of that?”

 

“I am only connecting parts of a puzzle. First the letters, now this tattoo on his hand.”

 

“What kind of a tattoo?” Tréville wanted to know.

 

“The picture of a small hand. Gallagher’s men had this sign on their hands. I think he is going to plan a second attack. Be careful.” With this said Milady left the stables.

 

        An angry Tréville looked after her. He remembered the tattoo. 

 

_ Why haven’t I noticed it before. But I still can’t prove that he has poisoned Athos. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜         

 

_ I should have guessed he would ask me to meet in a place like that. Dark, stinky, crowded … Luckily, I had the good idea to dress according to this filthy tavern ... no colours, just shades of brown and dark grey, ha, my usual travel clothes.  _

_ Nobody will notice us ... They are too busy drinking, gambling and grabbing the fat waists and breasts of ugly dirty women. My God! How long will he make me wait?  _

_ I need to go back … I have other duties to fulfil ...  _

_ Ha … he forgets that I pay him. For now he’s earning his living thanks to me. He is my spy. I can destroy him whenever I want. For now, only for now, I need him, but he has gained too much confidence … if he talks too much I’ll get rid of him ... _

_ Ah, here he is!… I don’t like his face. Small deep-set close together eyes … a straight sharp nose … Long greasy jet hair … We are complete opposite pictures. We must make a strange tableau! I don’t like the way he looks at me from under his dirty hood. My God, he is like an actor on stage. I really want to laugh … Now he is sitting opposite to me. His gloved hands crossed on the sticky table, I can smell his sour breath ... _

 

“He isn’t dead.”

 

_ Do I really need a spy to tell me what everyone knows in this city? _

 

“They left him alone in the courtyard. It would have been easy to kill him there.”

 

_ He really doesn’t want to understand? I want Athos dead, but I want him to suffer a lot before he dies, I want to witness his decline and his humiliation and I want him to see the hurt and disgust in his friends’ eyes, so he will suffer even more ... I want him to pay!  _

“I heard that he will be at  _ Le Louvre _ tomorrow.”

 

_ Well, this stubborn mule will make the task easier. He has survived a first poisoning, but there are so many ways of destroying a man.  _

 

“But I suppose that his three watchdogs will never let him take a step alone. What do you need me to do now?

 

_ I love it when he looks at me with this waiting expression. My dog is waiting for his bone to gnaw. Don’t worry, you pathetic spy, you will soon have your new toy! _


	33. Bodyguards

⚔⚔

 

        The four men stood next to Tréville’s office door, speaking quietly. One after another, they told the others what they had found out that day. Porthos now summarised:

 

“Even if I still don’t like the arrogance of this Duke of Savoy all evidence points to this O’Sullivan. So, if Athos can really identify him tomorrow, we can arrest him at once, conspiracy and attempted murder of the Queen, end of the story and Athos is safe!” Porthos stated firmly.

 

“Don’t you want to have proof?” Aramis asked his friend.

 

“Of course, I want proof! But believe me, I will question him and I will get my answers then …” Porthos paused.

“And what if Athos can’t remember him?” D’Artagnan asked quietly.

 

“He will. I am sure of it!” Porthos said a little louder.

 

“Aramis can’t and he was also at the convent!”

 

“What are you implying?” Tréville asked his youngest Musketeer.

 

“We need to be aware that, if Athos can’t identify him, he will be …” D’Artagnan stopped.

 

“He will be disappointed, devastated …” Aramis concluded. “Don’t you think that I fear what’s going to happen tomorrow if he comes with us, d’Artagnan? Gallagher’s men wore scarves over their mouths, besides the letter we have as a copy, that implies that Gallagher informed him, that he was in France, we have no evidence at all that they knew each other ... For me it looks more that he hasn’t been a part of the group that attacked the Convent, but he came to Paris afterwards looking for Gallagher.” He sighed deeply and let himself drop into the only chair standing on the balcony.

 

“Do you think he will be able to come with us?” Porthos asked softly.

 

“Of course he’s not ready and he knows it but our … stubborn Comte is so fixed on the idea of getting his answers tomorrow that he will put everything into coming with us and if I tell him he cannot come with us, I know that he will follow us on his own. So …”

 

“So, better to have him with us.” Tréville stated dryly. He had laid his right hand on his face and thought about the next day. He had not only to protect the King and Queen, but now his Lieutenant too. They were trained for protecting others, so they would give their best. But they needed a good plan. Alas he was well aware that every good plan, could fail.

 

“Alright, this is what we are going to do tomorrow. Porthos you will take Athos with you on the wagon to the palace around noon. Don’t be too early.” 

 

        Porthos nodded.

 

“Aramis you will accompany both of them on horseback. Make sure there is no ambush on your way to the palace. Remember we all think that someone is watching our moves.”

 

“I will, Captain!”

 

“When you reach the palace, help Athos to go to the throne hall, and then you stick with him, left and right side, so if … if he really decides to collapse in there, you can keep him upright.

 

“What am I going to do?” The young Gascon wanted to know.

 

“Alas, you have to come with me earlier. But all of you … have an eye on Athos. He mustn’t be left alone at any costs. Do you hear me?” Tréville had spoken the last words very strictly and direct, looking from Porthos over Aramis to d’Artagnan. His look told them that this was an order.

 

“He has promised me to stay with you, but you all know Athos, if …” 

 

        Tréville stopped. Had he just heard a noise in the courtyard? It was already becoming dark. He made a step to the balustrade and looked into the yard, but he couldn’t see anything. Pothos followed his look.

“No one?” He asked.

 

“No, maybe a cat. I think we’ll all be glad when this is over.” Tréville shook his head to get rid of the cobwebs that tried to enter his tired mind.

 

“As soon as the swordfight between the Duke and Rochefort is over I want to take him back!” Aramis stated firmly.

 

“After the sword fight we are going to change rooms. So you will have time to take Athos with Porthos back to the garrison. No palace guard for you the rest of the day then, but personal protection of my second-in-command, understood!”

 

“Yes, Captain!” All three of them answered at the same time.

 

“I doubt that it will take more than an hour, I think it will be over after a quarter. So you can bring him back sooner.” D’Artagnan said convinced in Aramis’ direction. “If I have to bet I will say the Duke will win. He is the better fighter!” He added knowingly.

 

“But you never know with what kind of foul tricks Rochefort is going to work.” Porthos answered him.

 

“I have spoken with Constance and she has promised me that she will speak with the Queen. If she was lucky, I am sure that Queen Anne will order Athos not to attend his duty as palace guard after the swordfight.” D’Artagnan said.

 

“That’s good to know, d’Artagnan.” Tréville appreciated the young Gascon’s idea.

 

“Stay focused. Aramis try to unobtrusively show O’Sullivan to Athos and don’t let him be led by his feelings, if he recognises him. Calm him!” Tréville sighed. “Just give me a sign and I will deal with the rest. Alright, then we have discussed the main parts!” Tréville told his men.

 

        Aramis thought bitterly: 

 

_ Easier said than done. _

 

       He remembered the court trial against Ninon de Larroque and Athos’ emotional breakdown as he saw his wife. He hoped that they would somehow get the answers they needed tomorrow, but he doubted it.

 

“If that’s all Captain, I want to check on Athos. He needs to eat and drink, so that his body will be strong enough for our undertaking tomorrow. I thought about taking him to my quarters tonight and I am going to stay with Athos overnight. I’ll  make sure that he is really … fit … well ... better, so that he can come with us. If he has a setback tonight, I will stay with him at the garrison and I won’t discuss this any further!”

 

“Agreed, Aramis! Let me talk to him first and then he is all yours.” Tréville nodded to the medic and then made his way to the entrance of his office.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        After they had discussed their investigation of the day, Captain Tréville quietly entered his office. 

 

“Give me some time with him alone,” he had said to the three men. “I will come back.” He softly smiled at them.

 

        Now, as his eyes, tried to get used to his dark room, he could hear Athos’ soft breathing. His Lieutenant was asleep. He needed to eat something and to drink, Aramis had told him. Slowly he went over to his desk, laid down his hat, his sword and then lit a candle which he carried over to the small table next to Athos’ bed. In the dim fire light, that shone yellow and red he could see Athos’ still pale face. His hair and beard were cut and less ruffled. Aramis had really managed to make a normal looking officer out of him again and not a poor farmer. He sat down and thought about all the information he had heard today. Everything led to O’Sullivan, if Athos could identify him as one of the mercenaries at the Convent it would be easy to get him arrested at once. For the attempt to kill the Queen of France. He groaned inwardly.

 

_ Is the Queen in danger too? I should have informed the King and Rochefort earlier. But no, I doubt it. This O’Sullivan wants revenge. Very biblical, one eye for another.  _ He sighed deeply.

 

“You know I can hear your troubled mind.” Athos quietly said, his eyes still closed.

 

        Like a proud father Tréville smiled at that statement.

 

“I’m sorry that I have to disturb you, but Aramis has told me that it’s important for you to eat more gruel and he will give you another coffee portion.”

 

“Then it’s best that I return to my quarters and prepare myself for the night.”

 

        Athos pushed himself into an upright position. He still wore Porthos blue shirt, which felt good on his skin. Tiredly he looked around for his trousers. His legs were still covered with Porthos grey blanket. Tréville reached behind him and gave him his trousers.

 

“Wait!” He made a gesture and Athos stopped trying to put them on.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Are you really sure, that you want to go to the palace tomorrow?”

 

“More than ever!” Athos stated firmly. 

 

        His stubborn mind convinced him that he somehow would manage to walk with his weak body to the throne room. Athos noticed Tréville’s indecisive expression. To ease the tension, he joked.

 

“It’s about time that I will see Rochefort losing a swordfight!” He softly grinned at Tréville. “You cannot ban me from watching him fail. Besides the Duke of Savoy is really good. He noticed some weak spots last year from me. Remember! I stumbled.”

 

“We both know that you aren’t that mischievous to risk your own health only to see Rochefort falling down in front of the King’s feet.” Tréville said with a strong tone in his voice. Putting softly his hand on Athos’ shoulder.

 

“Athos, this O’Sullivan is a dangerous person …”

 

“What are you hiding from me?” Athos could see that his Captain was not telling him everything.

 

“Well, I … I have no proof yet, but it might be … it is possible that O’Sullivan and Gallagher were brothers-in-arms and that this Irish medic somehow has found out that you had something to do with Gallagher’s death …”

 

“How?” Athos asked quietly. “All men had left …”   

 

“Maybe he found some notes from the Cardinal. I don’t know yet. All I want to say, Athos, is be careful don’t try to be the hero tomorrow, stay near your comrades. Don’t go anywhere alone. Do you hear me!”

 

        Athos could feel and hear the agitation in his Captain’s voice.

 

“I … I promise you that I will be careful. Only one hour.  _ I won’t be able to stay more than an hour on my feet!  _ And then I will go back to the garrison at once.”

 

        Athos looked into his Captain’s eyes. He was grateful for the friendship and the care this man had given him in the last six years and his support during his ordeal in the past days. Tréville sighed deeply. It doesn’t make any sense now to forbid Athos to go with them. If they went without him, he probably would find a way to follow them on his own. 

 

_ Better one hour with his friends and myself next to him. He is a soldier after all, he can die every single day in a battle field. But he shouldn’t risk his life so thoughtlessly. _

 

“Alright Athos. One hour, only in the throne room and only with Aramis, Porthos and  d’Artagnan next to you.”

 

“Yes, Captain!” Athos answered at his order. 

 

        Tréville stood up and went to the door.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Oh, I am fetching your bodyguards they will take you to Aramis’ quarters and Athos … accept their help!” 

 

        Tréville smiled at him, but as he turned around his smile vanished and Athos couldn’t see it anymore. Concern was plastered on Tréville’s face. He had the feeling that he was making a huge mistake and he would dearly pay for it. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Athos, upset, glared at his two friends. Porthos at his left, Aramis at his right.

 

“Don’t you dare …,” he grumbled as he slowly walked down the steps leading from the balcony to the courtyard. He managed it without their help but it took him longer than he had expected or even wanted to admit to himself. D’Artagnan was waiting downstairs, eyes wide open, brows furrowed, arms slightly open, somehow ready to jump, if he managed to put one foot wrong and dare to fall over, face first. Oh his brothers could be so overprotective.

 

        As he reached the last step he had to fasten his grip on the handrail. He trembled and felt dizzy. Gasping for air, he paused.

 

“Come!” He felt Aramis’ soft hand on his shoulder. 

 

        Then Aramis put his arm under his brother’s armpit and led him to his own room. D’Artagnan, who walked in front, opened the door, only to leave at once. 

 

“I will be back in a moment!” He shouted behind him, after running back into the courtyard.

 

“Not my room?” Athos asked quietly as he finally sat on Aramis’ bed, gasping heavily for air.

 

“No, we thought it’s better to change the quarters … just in case …” Aramis explained but didn’t go into too much detail. He knelt down in front of him, and started to help him pull off his boots, while Porthos fetched him a glass of water.

 

“Here, drink.” 

 

        Athos thanked him.

 

“You still need to eat something, but first you will drink and d’Artagnan has prepared another cup of coffee for you. So we have to wait a bit. Your stomach has to settle first.”

 

        Athos nodded slightly. He already felt tired again.

 

“Why don’t you lie down and rest and we will wake you in an hour for the gruel?” Porthos suggested.

        The mentioning of the word gruel, made Athos grimace and pout. D’Artagnan had returned with a cup of warm coffee. He entered Aramis’ room and sat on the chair next to the headboard.

 

“Here, it’s still hot! But you’d better drink it now.”

 

        Athos did as he was asked, after several gulps of the bitter coffee and some more cold water with honey he laid down on his back. Soon his eyes drooped, but sleep didn’t want to come. Instead his mind was wide awake. With his closed eyes he started to talk.

 

“I am well aware, that you are all concerned for me going to the palace tomorrow. But … I want to thank you, … that I can go. I know that you will have my back …”

 

        He opened his eyes and looked at his three brothers. None of them said a word.

 

“I …” Athos started again.

 

“No need to explain!” Porthos said, sitting down next to him on another chair. “I will ride with you tomorrow in the wagon. What you need right now, is rest. Try to sleep!” Porthos stood up, bent over him, and kissed him softly on the cheek.

 

“Porthos stop acting like Aramis!” Athos tried to protect his now wet face.

 

“Goodnight!” Porthos grinned.

 

        D’Artagnan followed Porthos’ example by getting up.   

 

“I need to catch some sleep too but Aramis will stay with you … and here … take this!” 

 

        D’Artagnan had suddenly a soft fabric in his hand which he pressed shyly into Athos’ right hand. 

 

“What is it?”

 

        It was too dark in the room to see it clearly.

 

“It is from my mother, she gave it to me … years ago ... It’s a scarf, you will need it tomorrow, it will keep your chest warm.” He quietly said. “Please, wear it.”

 

        Athos ran his fingers on the fabric. It was made of woven wool, and had at least four shades of blue, from a very light blue to a dark, nearly black, blue. It wasn’t the fine fabric of an aristocratic cloth, but something thick and soft enough to protect from the cold. The flames of the candles and the fire gave it a nearly purple tinge.

 

“The colour is …” Athos began.

 

“Er … Porthos … er … come on … we have to fetch … you know … a ….” Aramis said hesitantly.

 

“Oh, yes … You are right … The … thing ... in my room.” Porthos answered with a wink.

 

“That’s it … the … thing …” Aramis continued. “Athos, d’Artagnan, we need to … er … We will be back in a moment.”

 

        Then, they stepped back and left the room. Athos looked at the closed door, smiling softly.

 

“They are bad actors.” He whispered then he looked down at the scarf. “I am touched, you know. I will give it back to you as soon as possible.” He felt his voice faltering and his hands slightly shook as he was gripped by a wave of emotion.

 

He hadn’t thought about his own scarf for a while. What had happened to it? Would it  ever be possible to wear it again?   D’Artagnan was still standing, with an expression both shy and proud, his dark eyes shining.

 

“About the color … It’s … er … in Gascony, there is a plant …” He began.

 

“Don’t talk to me about plants!” Athos said a little too sharply. 

 

“Sorry … I’m sorry …” D’Artagnan stammered stepping back towards the door.

 

_ He is still such a child _ . Athos thought fondly.

 

“Don’t! Please, stay.” Athos held a hand. “I … need your help … for ...”

 

“Oh, alright.” D’Artagnan replied eagerly.

 

“And please, tell me about this mysterious plant.” Athos continued with a soft smile.

 

He handed him the scarf. The young man sat down on the edge of the mattress, unfolded the long and large scarf and wound it around Athos’ neck, careful to leave it loose enough. Carefully arranging the folds and avoiding his mentor’s eyes, d’Artagnan spoke:

 

“The colours come from a blue dye extracted from a plant called woad. We grow it in Gascony …”

 

“Oh, this woad should help me to reconcile with plants.” Athos tried to joke.

 

        D’Artagnan had finished with the scarf, but his hand lingered on the fabric, as if trying to take advantage of his task to make sure that a heart was still beating properly under the layers of clothes.

 

“D’Artagnan what is it?” Athos asked gently.

 

“Nothing. I will go.” D’Artagnan bleated trying to stand. 

 

        Athos grabbed his hand.

 

“Answer me!” Athos ordered. “What’s the matter?”

 

        Without looking up and staring at their joined hands, d’Artagnan tried to speak:

 

“It’s … I … am … We nearly … lost you …”

 

“I know.” Athos replied in a low voice.

 

“I couldn’t bear to …”

 

“I know.” Athos said again.

 

“Will you let me speak?” D’Artagnan replied raising his eyes to look at his friend with a shy smile. “It was  frightening … your ... illness. We all thought … that we would lose you … and … tomorrow ...”

 

“Tomorrow. You will be there to protect me, to help me, because that’s what brothers do, because that’s what you always do. You, Aramis, Porthos, the Captain.” Athos replied. 

 

        D’Artagnan tried to withdraw his hand, but Athos, the least tactile person the young man knew, tightened his grip.

 

“Thank you my friend and now, please, take care of yourself. Sleep tonight. I am safe, in a safe place, with my personal doctor. Thank you, for everything, and have a very good night.” Athos finished, emotion straining his voice, a deep wrinkle forming on his forehead.

 

        D’Artagnan stood up as Porthos and Aramis opened the door just in time to see the young man’s hand leave Athos’. Both men fell silent as they obviously noticed that they were interrupting something important. 

 

“Sorry… We…” Aramis tried awkwardly.

 

“No, it’s fine, Aramis. You can come in and this young man needs to sleep.” Athos reassured his friend.

 

“Come on boy! I will sing you a lullaby?” Porthos joked, barely escaping d’Artagnan’s swift hand. 

 

        He slung an arm around the young man’s shoulder and steered him outside.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	34. Please, let us help you.

⚔⚔

 

        Aramis stood unmoving for a few seconds, eyes on the closed door.

 

“So …” Athos began.

 

“So?” Aramis asked.

 

        They laughed quietly in the silence of the room.

 

“I don’t really feel like sleeping for now.” Athos said, his smile fading.

 

        He turned on his side, back to the wall, head on his bent arm.

 

“I am exhausted … Yes, Aramis, don’t look at me like that, I admit it, I am exhausted, but I feel I won’t be able to sleep.”

 

“It’s one of the side effects of the coffee you drank”.

 

“Wonderful.” Athos snorted.

 

“You should try to sleep anyway. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

 

“You?” Athos asked gently.

 

“Me?”

 

“You can’t sleep while I am in your bed!”

 

“Try me!” Aramis replied with a grin.

 

        Athos straightened and tried to get up.

 

“I’ll go back to my room.”

 

“No, no, no, you don’t. Captain’s orders and I’m not tired. So now, I will blow out the candles and you will close your eyes and sleep will come without you noticing it.”

 

“No.” Athos cried, suddenly agitated.

 

        Aramis who had already extinguished the candle on the table stopped.

 

“Please, leave this one.”

   

        Athos pointed at the candle weakly flickering on the tarnished sconce above the bed. Aramis sat again on the floor but not before having laid a blanket and two pillows on the cold tiles. If he had to sleep, he would, at least, sleep at arm’s reach of his brother. Athos wrapped his blanket a little more tightly around his shoulders and closed his eyes. Aramis put a hand on his knee and ran his thumb on it in a comforting back-and-forth move. He could feel the man’s shudders under his hand.

 

“Are you cold?” He made to stand up. “I will add …”

 

“No. It’s not that, Aramis.”

 

“So what is it? Talk to me, please.” Aramis whispered, anxiety clear in his voice.

 

“I know it’s the fever, or exhaustion, or that nasty poison, but …” He stopped, trying not to seem childish.

 

“Athos …”

 

        Aramis moved his hand and squeezed Athos’ wrist encouragingly.

 

“I know it’s a figment of my imagination … but …”

 

        Aramis straightened, suddenly on alert.

 

“Tell me.”

   

        Athos opened his eyes and looked straight into the deep brown soft eyes.

 

“I … when I was in the courtyard … I saw a shadow lurking in the dark … I know it’s not …”

 

“It is …!” Aramis interrupted him.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“It is real. I had the same feeling, here and at the palace. I think there is someone, not a shadow. But a man … or a woman …”

 

        The medic stood up abruptly.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Checking the bolts and this heavy trunk will be better placed in front of the door.”

 

        Athos laughed silently.

 

“What?”

 

“Look at us. Two scared children afraid of night and shadows.”

 

“Shhh now, boy. Try to sleep.”

 

“Very well, but try to sleep too. Are you comfortable enough? I could …”

 

“Be quiet, Athos and go to sleep.”

 

        Aramis hadn’t meant to fall asleep so soon but exhaustion had won its fight over his body. Athos heard his breathing even. He really needed to move his feet, his legs were restless and his heart seemed as noisy as a galloping stallion, but he didn’t dare to move because the rustling of the sheets could wake his friend. Athos could hear his heart. He knew that the beating in his chest was regular and not too fast but the feeling was frightening. He feared for each heartbeat to be the last. It reminded him of these irrational fears of his childhood, when alone in his room he could hear all the menacing sounds of the castle. He tried to focus on the soft snoring of Aramis, on the cries of night birds outside, on the small noises new to him in this unfamiliar room, but nothing worked. The _bang bang bang_ was slowly driving him crazy.

 

        Aramis whimpered in his sleep and muttered a desperate _please_. In the dim light Athos saw him turn on his side and move restlessly. Bending over the edge of the mattress, Athos reached for his friend’s shoulder. The mere touch seemed to calm him a little so Athos kept his hand where it was. Feeling the strong shudders under his fingers, he closed his eyes again.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_It’s so cold and wet and white. Cold. Wet. White._

_Please, don't leave me._

_I am cold._

_All is white._

_All is red._

_Don’t leave me, please, don’t …_

_White. Cold. Wet and red._

_Ravens. Keep them away. Please kill them._

_Don’t leave, please …_

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Aramis bolted upright. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. And if? … He knelt and reached a hand towards the bed. Athos’ left arm was dangling over the edge of the mattress, his eyes were closed and his features were so pale and drawn. Aramis laid his palm on his friend’s chest. He could feel the regular heartbeat under his fingers and he exhaled a relieved breath. Darkness always made fears much worse. Aramis relaxed and smiled.

 

 _You didn’t want to sleep, but sleep wanted you my friend._ He thought.

 

        After getting up to stoke the fire, Aramis rearranged the blanket on his friend and sat down on his nest of pillows and blanket. This time he wouldn’t sleep. He leaned his head on the edge of the mattress, his face so close to Athos’ that he could feel the warm breath of the sleeping man on his cheek. His eyes closed slowly.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_Heat. Sun. Blue._

_He walks around the courtyard flooded by bright light._

_Sweat. Heat. Thirst._

_He needs to drink._

_He approaches the well._

_Bending over the edge, he looks at the dark abyss._

_Her face. He can see her face. Her so sad and frightened blue eyes._

_In the reflection over this black water._

_She calls. She cries._

_Everything is blurry now. The brightness has disappeared again._

_Silence._

_Deafening silence._

_But sobs. His sobs? Her sobs?_

_Black. Black ink floods from the shadows of the courtyard._

_He suffocates. The inky black flood is slowly submerging him._

_Drowning him._

_Desperate, he holds a hand towards the sky._

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        The shout made him jump. Aramis had drifted between sleep and wakefulness for an hour, maybe more, maybe less. He felt numb and dizzy and he didn’t realise at once what was happening, but what he saw when he looked towards the bed, broke his heart. Athos was kneeling on the bed, his wide open eyes held a frightened expression. He was whimpering and big childish tears were rolling down his cheeks. One of his hands was clutching the sheet while the other was stretched as if he wanted to seize something above his head. Aramis jumped onto the bed and knelt facing his friend. He took the stretched out hand in both his. Athos squeezed them like a drowning man.

 

“Save her, please …” He mumbled.

 

“Athos, wake up, it’s just a dream.” Aramis tried to soothe his friend, but Athos recoiled from his touch.

 

“No … I am cursed … It’s dark … everywhere … Don’t … leave me, ... please,” he stammered barely understandable, freeing his fingers from his friend’s hold.

 

        He put his head in his hands and clutched at his wild hair.

 

“I can’t … I can’t … “ He moaned again.

 

“Wake up, please, wake up!” Aramis pleaded gripping his friend’s wrist.

 

        He gently moved Athos’ clenched hands away from his face. He continued his soothing murmur, looking straight into the two pale lakes of his friend’s scared eyes. He felt his own eyes blur and two lonely tears escape his eyelids. He wiped them angrily with his shoulders, not releasing the trembling hands in his. He let his forehead drop against his friend’s and began to whisper a litany of prayers and Spanish words. Suddenly, he heard Athos suck in a deep breathe and he knew it was the sign that the man was awake.

 

“What ...?” Athos mumbled blinking.

 

        Aramis looked at him softly.

 

“You had a dream. A bad dream.”       

 

        Athos froze and slumped against his brother’s chest. He gasped and uncontrollable sobs began to wrack his body. Aramis closed his arms around the trembling shoulders, running his fingers through the thick wet curls. He could feel, by the way his friend was giving up to his grief, that he wasn’t really awake. Athos’ hands were gripping Aramis’ shirt like a lifeline. They stayed like that, Aramis kneeling on the bed, Athos slumped against him. The forceful sobs finally faded and Athos’ hands released their grip. Suddenly, he shot upright, pushed Aramis away, and sat back against the wall, his face displaying a mixture of terrified and shameful expressions. Aramis tried to reach a hand to keep contact with the grieving man, but Athos turned his head, hiding his eyes behind the curtain of his still long hair.

 

“I am sorry.” He mumbled.

 

“Don’t, Athos, please.” Frustration was clear in Aramis’ voice. “Why don’t you allow yourself to let go when you need it?”

 

        Athos raised his head and looked straight into the deep dark eyes.

 

“Let go!” He laughed bitterly. “What do you think I am? I …”

 

“Don’t you think I understand what you are feeling? Don’t you think I have my own failures, my own pains?” Aramis replied a little too sharp and regretting his tone at once.

 

        He sat back on his haunches then bent his legs, his chin on his knees, arms encircling them. They were now facing each other like two fighting cats, hiding their suffering behind their absurd and childish pride.

 

“I had a dream before you had yours. I dreamt of …” Aramis began.

 

        A lump had formed in his throat. He closed his eyes and swallowed, raising his head towards the ceiling.

 

“Savoy …?” Athos whispered.

 

“Savoy … I ...” Aramis admitted.

 

“It’s not the same.” Athos cut him. “The things you witnessed there, you …” He stopped, trying to find his words.

 

“We both have bad memories but we are men, only men, just men.”

 

“I hate being so weak, so dependent, so frightened.” Athos managed to explain, at last.

 

“You hate it, as I hated it when I came back from that border. Did you think I was weak and despicable at the time?”

 

        Athos shook his head ready to argue but Aramis continued.

 

“You were there for me. You helped me. You never laughed because I cried like a child in my sleep, because I was afraid of my own shadow. So, please, let us help you. Just let us, please.”

 

        Athos stayed quiet looking at his friend with teary eyes. Aramis had clenched his hands on his knees, waiting anxiously for Athos to speak.

 

“I will.”

 

        It was a whisper. Aramis even thought that he had imagined it, but Athos lifted his right hand and reached for Aramis.

 

“I will.” He repeated in a more clear voice, like a solemn vow.

 

        Aramis took the proffered hand in his left and murmured a hesitating and questioning:

 

“All for one?”

 

        Athos smiled.

 

“As you say…” Athos answered, the corner of his mouth curling a little and his hand squeezing his friend's fingers almost painfully.

 

        Aramis exhaled a sigh of sheer relief.

 

“Sleep, now, my dear friend.”

 

        Athos curled on his side wrapping his blanket around his tired body and closed his eyes, a slight peaceful smile on his lips.

 

“Good night.” He mumbled, adding a few seconds later …  “My dear friend.”

 

_**To be continued...** _


	35. Two Turkeys

⚔⚔

 

**_Friday, 6th June_ **

 

Athos hadn’t slept well that night.

 

_Maybe because of this bitter coffee Aramis gave me last night?_

_Maybe because I am too anxious seeing the enemy everywhere?_

_Maybe because I know that I will pass out in the throne room?_

_Why am I doing this? This is a stupid idea._

_But I have to know! I need to know!_

 

        Athos was standing in the courtyard wearing his heavy uniform. The worn out heavy dark leather felt uncomfortable on his sensitive skin. The shirt he was wearing irritated the still painful rash on his chest. At least his hat protected him from the burning sun and the blinding light.

        It was a hot spring day. No clouds, no rain, but a beautiful clear sky. Swallows and martins were dancing a dizzying ballet across the courtyard. Athos looked up, shading his eyes with a too trembling hand. The martin’s cries brought Athos back to a happy past. When he was a child waiting impatiently for spring to return, this season meaning long horse rides, walks in the fields, reading sat on the low branch of a tree and, above all else, longer days. And light. He smiled sadly. Where were these years? Where was this light?

 

        A soft hand on the small of his back nearly made him jump and blink.

 

“Your uniform weighs too much for your still weak body, allow me at least to carry your weapons for you until Porthos is here with the wagon.”

 

        Aramis had helped him to dress that morning: shirt, uniform, trousers, his boots, jacket and the precious blue scarf d’Artagnan had brought him in the evening. It had been a very slow process and Aramis had cursed now and then as he watched his brother swaying unsteadily, but he hadn’t said anything to him. He didn’t want to hurt Athos’ pride, so he tried to intervene as little as possible. Now Aramis was next to him carrying his sword and pistols, not yet ready to give them back to his brother. Athos had accepted Aramis’ offer. He didn’t say anything, but he was thankful and a short nod was enough for his friend. A sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead and the band of his hat stuck to his skin. His breathing was already fast from the short walk from Aramis’ room to the courtyard and he could hear his heart bumping.

 

“Are you really sure you still want to come?” Aramis had asked him five minutes earlier concern and anxiety colouring his voice.

 

“Aramis, I have to. You know that.” He had answered him softly.

 

“Fine then! Remember! We are there for you! Don’t overdo it and before you pass out, sit down. Listen to your body and tell us, if you need help!” Aramis had ordered before they left the room.

 

        Athos had nodded shortly, thankful for Aramis’ words and thankful for the support of his brothers. The loud sound of the wooden wheels of their old wagon brought him back to reality. Porthos was steering the two horses hitched to the wagon. Now he ordered them to hold next to him. Aramis gave him Athos’ weapons.

 

“Do you need a hand?”

 

        Porthos had asked him and before he could even answer, he had unconsciously lifted his right hand and his strong brother had seized it and hoisted him onto the seat next to him. Athos looked a bit embarrassed. But Aramis had chosen this moment to unfold the cape he was carrying under his arm in an elegant and swift move hiding Athos’ back, so no other Musketeer had seen the way he had clumsily climbed on his seat. Tréville and d’Artagnan had already left the garrison. Aramis had helped Athos to fasten his weapons to his belt. Then the medic had gently pressed his knee. His dark eyes looked into his green eyes, and he noticed the paleness of his friend’s face, but he didn’t say a word.

 

        Athos could read Aramis' thoughts nevertheless.

 

_You are a fool Athos, but you are my fool. So do me a favour and stay safe!_

 

        With a soft, but very weak and barely noticeable smile he answered Aramis.

 

“Ready to go, My Lord?” He heard Porthos whisper in his ear.

 

        Athos snorted and if he had had enough strength, his elbow would have landed on Porthos’ ribs.

 

“Just drive the damn wagon, Porthos.” Athos ordered with a mischievous smile.

 

        Porthos whistled and the horses started to pull their precious cargo. Athos felt exhausted and dizzy. The bumps the wagon made vibrated through his upper body. He felt tired.

 

 _I will never be able to climb the stairs to the throne hall nor to be able to stand there for longer than five minutes._ He ruefully thought. _I should tell him to leave me behind._

 

“Very well. May I add something?” Porthos asked after a few minutes of a companionable silence.

 

“If it’s not _go back to sleep, Athos_ or _you should stay in bed, Athos_ , yes, you can.” Athos answered in a sleepy but amused voice.

 

        Porthos had not once told him that he shouldn’t go, that he should stay in his room, resting and being protected by two cadets. Porthos had simply accepted his wishes, even so he was as worried for him as Aramis was, maybe even more … and Athos was well aware and grateful for that. Athos heard Aramis laughing but didn’t turn his head. Porthos’ shoulder was too comfortable to abandon it.

 

“May I compliment you about your hairstyle, My Lord?”

 

“Will you stop that, Porthos?” Athos groaned.   

 

“And your beard.”

 

“Porthos ...” Athos replied in a menacing tone.

 

“He is right, Athos, the court ladies will faint when you appear in the throne room.”

 

“So, I shall try not to faint before they do!” Athos answered with a wry smile.

 

“Mmmh … you know how to seduce women, Athos. I will ask you for a few lessons, later”. Aramis laughed.

 

“Aramis. Be quiet!” Athos replied, closing his eyes again.

 

        His head started to loll and it fell on Porthos shoulder where it rested.

 

 _Oi Athos, you can be stubborn. I should stop right now and carry you back into your bed._ Porthos thought, feeling the soft breath of his tired friend at his neck.

 

        He looked next to him and could see Aramis, who was riding on his horse on the other side, next to Athos. They looked at each other and talked silently.

 

 _Shall I turn around?_ Porthos asked.

 

 _No, let him have his will, but be aware that he is still very weak._ Aramis answered.

 

“I can hear you talking.” Athos mumbled with closed eyes.

 

The wagon had hit a sharp and big stone and Athos had woken again.

 

“Rest Athos.” He could hear Porthos soothing voice. “You will need your strength later!”

 

        Athos thankfully stayed in his position. Porthos steady manner calmed his agitated nerves.

 

_Only one hour, I will only watch the swordfight, check out this mean O’Sullivan and then I will return to my bed._

 

        As he slightly swayed on the seat, he felt Porthos’ hand around his shoulder. The big Musketeer tightened his grip, while the wagon rumbled over the bumpy ground to the palace.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_In the meantime at the palace_ **

 

        Today was the great day, Milady had put on her best dress a white-rosé one, with lots of silver beads on it. She knew that the tight fabric would outline her feminine figure and she wanted to please King Louis with it. As she was on her way to the throne room, she spotted O’Sullivan. He was busy following Rochefort, who just appeared in the corridor. He was dressed in an ugly red shirt and tight, black leather trousers and his sword was fastened on a belt on his left side.

 

“My Lord, may I have a word with you?” O’Sullivan spoke loudly and his voice sounded agitated.

 

        Rochefort wanted to move on.

 

“Not now!” He angrily answered, “I have to prepare myself, tomorrow I’ll have time for you.”

 

“I am afraid I really need to talk with you now, I need answers. Have you found out who the woman was who hired Gallagher?” He asked angrily. “I have paid you a fortune for this information. Yesterday you didn’t want to talk to me. I demand …”

 

“You can demand nothing!” Rochefort interrupted him angrily and shouted. “You came to me with a question and you should be glad that I gave you the name of the Musketeer who murdered your friend.” Rochefort stated coldly.

 

“He is a soldier like me, only following orders. I want to know who hired Gallagher.” The man stated in a cold voice.

 

“I am afraid, I cannot help you with that.”

 

        Milady stood hidden in a corner.

 

_This is interesting. O’Sullivan is searching for me but he will never know that it was me. The Cardinal didn’t tell anyone about my work for him. He took all his dirty secrets to the grave._

 

“You still owe me money!” O’Sullivan said angrily.

 

        Rochefort grinned evil.

 

“I doubt that. For what? Those plants you are trying to sell to the King. Any fishwife living in the gutter of Paris knows about the effect of these plants.

 

“Nevertheless I have left samples for the King …” O’Sullivan said angrily.

 

“We both know that you are not a medic, so stop being such a hypocrite! Enjoy our feast and then gather your things and leave this palace. You are not welcome here anymore.” He threatened him.

 

“I won’t leave until I have my answers.” O’Sullivan wanted to push Rochefort against the next corner, but two Red Guards, who had watched the whole scene readied themselves, one of them had drawn a pistol.

 

“Don’t you dare to touch me.” Rochefort snarled. Then he turned around and hurried down the corridor. O’Sullivan angrily shook his head.

 

        Milady had seen enough. Rochefort had given O’Sullivan Athos’ name. But O’Sullivan hadn’t sounded like he had attacked Athos. Or was he simply covering his tracks? The whole affair became more and more complicated.

 

_But if it wasn’t O’Sullivan, who attacked Athos, who then? The Duke of Savoy? And why did O’Sullivan want to find out who had engaged Gallagher? Does this man want to kill me?_

_Be careful Anne!_ She told herself.

 

        As O’Sullivan had left the corridor too, she stepped out of the dark corner where she had been hidden and went slowly and very ladylike to the throne hall.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

        Confused, Athos opened his eyes as he felt a hand on his thigh. He looked to his right, where Aramis was standing. Porthos’ hand was still holding him in a safe embrace, to keep him from falling down from the wagon.

 

        Porthos had stopped their wagon in a small backyard of the palace. Usually it was used by pages in order not to disturb the noblemen who entered the palace through the huge main entrance. The entrance was beside the river Seine and the cool breath coming from the water felt good on Athos’ face.

 

“Come!” Aramis reached for his hands while Porthos supported his back from the other side.

 

        Before Athos could say a word of protest both his brothers had helped him to climb off the wagon, a side door to a small entrance was opened and d’Artagnan appeared.

 

“The stairs are empty and I have asked Jean and Armand to keep it clear, so no one will see us entering the palace.” He went over to his brothers.

 

        Athos was unsteady on his feet, the dizziness he had felt earlier had returned and he swayed dangerously, keeping Aramis’ hand in a death grip.

 

 _Come on Athos. Try to calm, try to breathe easy. You can do this._ He told himself.

 

        Porthos who had climbed from the wagon too, positioned himself on Athos’ other side. Athos let his head drop.

 

“I …” Athos swallowed. “ I am … sorry, but I doubt that I will make it up the stairs on my own.”

 

“That’s why we are here and helping you, my dear Comte.” Aramis teased him softly.

 

“We have decided to use the page entrance. No visitors. Just lean on me and Aramis and d’Artagnan will go ahead and see if the entrance to the second floor is free. He will give us a sign.” Porthos explained in an calm and reassuring voice.

 

“Are you ready?” D’Artagnan wanted to know.

 

        Athos felt a knot in his throat, but he couldn’t say anything.

 

“Wait!”

 

        Aramis said suddenly and his friends looked irritated at the medic. He gently lifted Athos’ right hand which was still in his. Then, he looked into his brother’s eyes and pressed his right hand over Athos’, mumbling quietly “All for one …”

 

        Porthos and d’Artagnan moved nearer and followed his example, putting their own right gloved hands over Athos’ and repeating Aramis’ words. Then standing there in a circle, protectively around Athos they said together, in a solemn chorus of deep voices:

 

“And one for all!”

 

        Leaving a speechless Athos in their middle, who was obviously fighting with his emotions, jaws clenched and eyelids fluttering.

 

“Now, we can go!” Aramis ordered firmly and supported Athos’ right side, while Porthos did the same on his left.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Throne room_ **

 

        With Aramis and Porthos by his sides, Athos slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor. The swordsman thought it would be more exhausting for him, but his brothers had supported his back and waited several times, so that he could pause and breathe deeply from time to time. His eyes never left the grey stone stairs, concentrating on every single step he hoped and prayed that the itching feeling in his chest wouldn’t return. His heartbeat still worried him.

 

“Only one landing left.” Porthos’ murmured in his left ear.

 

        As they reached the top, the young Gascon was already waiting for them. From time to time he looked through the gap of a partly open white door and smiled like an excited schoolboy at his mentor.

 

“All noblemen are gathered, the King is on his way, but the Duke of Savoy and Rochefort are still missing.”

 

        He quietly explained to them, while Athos used d’Artagnan’s blue scarf to wipe the sweat from his forehead that had reappeared when they had reached the first landing.

           

“Now we’ll wait here!” Aramis ordered.

 

        He had taken over the command. Usually it was Athos who gave the orders, but the latter was too exhausted.

 

“Good idea!” Porthos agreed. “It’s cooler in the staircase. The sun will already have heated up the the throne room and with many people in it, the air will be spent.”

 

“Tréville has told me that you three shall stand guard next to the three big windows beside  the throne. He has opened one, so there will be a small breath at your back. I will take my post opposite to you.” D’Artagnan explained.

 

“Won’t it look strange when we arrive that late?” Athos tried to argue tiredly not thinking clearly.

 

“Not at all!” Aramis encouraged him. “It would make sense to wait until the King has entered safely, we’ve done this many times before. You know that. Nobody will notice any difference.”

 

“Shhh …” D’Artagnan whispered. “There is the sign from Jean. We should go in!”

 

        Now Athos was standing between Porthos on his right and Aramis on his left side. As Porthos had predicted the air was bad in the huge throne room.

 

_With this bad air in here I will have a good excuse when I collapse._

 

        They stood next to each other, side by side. Porthos and Aramis’ arms were touching his and by the slightest unsteady move of their friend they could easily stabilise him, by laying their hands on his back but right now there was no need for that.

 

        Athos realised that Tréville, who was standing next to d’Artagnan on the opposite side of them, observed the whole room.

 

 _Tréville isn’t relaxed at all_.

 

Athos’ eyes wandered through the room. King Louis was wearing a blue silk costume.

 

 _It is new, or at least I have never seen him wearing it before._ _Maybe it was tailored extra for this special day._

 

        Queen Anne, who was standing next to her husband was wearing a beautiful green dress and both of them were sitting on their thrones. About one hundred noblemen, court-ladies and a few merchants were waiting at the other side of the room. There were big vases with red and white roses on carved gilt tables in each of the four corners of the hall. In the middle of the room a big velvet red carpet had been laid down on the wood stained flooring and on it Rochefort and the Duke of Savoy were now standing opposite to each other, waiting for the sign which would be given by the King to start their sword fight.

 

_Rochefort is looking like a peacock, I really hope that he won’t win. He is scanning the audience like we are, checking on everyone who is there. It serves him right that his plan that I should fight the Duke a second time has not materialised. If I’d had to fight today, I would never have won, it would have been impossible._

 

        Athos felt another sweat bead running down his face.

 

_Porthos is right, it is really hot in here and I can hardly breathe. Take it easy, Athos, try to calm yourself._

 

        Athos could hear his pounding heart in his ears. The heavy uniform was pulling him down and he hoped that the sword fight would soon be over. The heat was unbearable for his weak body and so to distract himself he began to scan the corner where the noblemen were standing. He could see Doctor Lemay standing next to Constance and a man he had never seen before, several times he squeezed his eyes to get a clearer look and it worked.

 

“The man next to Lemay? Is that O’Sullivan?” Athos curiously whispered to Aramis trying to calm his breathing. His voice sounded hoarse.

 

 _We have really made it!_ The medic thought.

 

        Aramis could feel Athos’ tense body next to him. His brother was in high alert position, but he wasn’t swaying dangerously and he was even a little better than yesterday.

 

_Thank God!_

 

        He could see Tréville’s glance telling him to take care of Athos and he answered with a slight nod.

 

 _Of course I will and if he shows any signs of dizziness I will take him out the next room is free and he can rest there. Come on, let’s start this whole ceremony, the sooner we begin, the sooner I can take Athos back._ Aramis hoped that the fight would start soon.

 

“Is that O’Sullivan?” He heard Athos’ quiet voice.

                              

        He followed Athos’ discreet look and indeed next to Lemay, O’Sullivan was standing. His black traveler costume reminded him more of an Irish soldier than of an Irish merchant.

 

“Yes, that’s him.” Aramis quietly answered to Athos. “Do you recognise him? Have you seen him anywhere before?”

 

        He could feel Athos’ agitation and tightness. His breathing was getting stronger and Aramis was worried that Athos would soon do something stupid.

 

 _I wish I would remember him. Maybe anything about him, a scar ... would help, but no ... He wasn’t one of the men at the Convent. Aramis was right. Damn, why am I so stressed? My heart is beating faster again. Come on Athos, breath in and out. Relax. Maybe … yes, maybe I can talk to him later._ Athos told himself.

 

 _So far so good. We have made it to the throne room. Oi this Rochefort looks like a pirate in his black trousers and dark red shirt, if he was wearing an eye patch now, I would have to  arrest him. I can’t wait to see him losing today. This arrogant, nosy …_ Porthos’ thoughts were interrupted by Athos and Aramis’ soft mumbling.

 

        He knew at once what they were talking about. Porthos readied himself to grab Athos’ arm, if his brother decided to do something stupid. He could feel Athos’ body slightly trembling, but nothing worse.

 

_Stay calm Athos. I’m there for you. You know that. So, just stay where you are right now._

 

“Sorry … but I don’t remember … this man.” Athos stated firmly with a barely audible voice. “But you know … they were wearing black cloths around their faces.” He added in a much more mumbled tone. “Maybe if I speak to him later …” Athos tried.

 

“One hour …” Aramis quietly stated, let’s see if we get the chance.” He made the excuse to Athos.

 

        Both men could feel Athos’ disappointment. Even if the swordsman tried to hide it. He uneasily stepped from one foot to another and breathed in more deeply. Porthos glanced worriedly to Aramis, but his brother told him with one look that it was alright for the moment. Athos could feel them discussing over his head.

 

 _Stop being so overprotective, my friends, I feel better. I only need another chance. And I need fresh air ..._ Athos’ thoughts were interrupted by the King who had stood up.

 

“Welcome! To …” He didn’t listen to Louis’ bright speech about the best trade summit France had ever experienced.

 

        The King was enjoying his usual show: speaking with his hands, showing his white teeth by laughing at his own jokes and flirting with the court-ladies who had gathered too. Queen Anne was annoyed, but tried not to let it show. Seeing her being humiliated by her husband in these moments at court, Athos could understand why she did what she did. He couldn’t blame Aramis for his stupidity. His thoughts were drifting away again. He scanned the gathered crowd a second time.

 

_Maybe I could recognise one of the other guests of the summit._

 

        His eyes looked from one nobleman to the next. Several times he had to blink, the bright light, that was now shining through the great windows on the wooden floor still hurt his sensitive eyes.

 

_Please, no headache ..._

 

        Suddenly he froze. There, in the farthest corner of the room she was standing. She was not looking in his direction, but in the direction of the King. Her eyes were flirting with King Louis.

 

_Why on earth did I want to come here? I need to leave. This is unbearable. Ahhh my heart … Breathe Athos, breathe!_

 

        He was once again interrupted in his thoughts as King Louis ordered the sword fight. to begin. The young Gascon could see his three brothers with Athos in their middle. Porthos scanned the area every single minute, checking for any possible threats. Athos was standing safe between them and he had a little more colour in his pale face than the last two days.

 

_A good sign._

 

        He noticed Athos looking at the sadistic O’Sullivan, whispering to Aramis and from his reaction he could see that he didn’t recognise him.

 

 _Maybe it’s better this way._ The Gascon told himself.

 

        He had already feared that Athos would go directly after O’Sullivan and he could see by the way that Porthos was positioning himself, his big brother had the same thought. D’Artagnan observed the two fighters in the middle of the room. Rochefort, looked like a soldier, his blond hair not styled, he looked more like an ordinary slumdog. In contrast to him the Duke of Savoy wore a beautiful dark brown leather uniform. Both men bowed slightly in the direction of the King, as Louis announced the fight to begin. Now they started to dance around each other.

 

_They do look like two turkeys fighting for the same hen._

 

        Rochefort was lurking, trying to read Savoy and the Duke was trying to start his first attack. Very soon both men were attacking each other, fighting hard. Rochefort was not only using his sword, but his leather gloved right fist. As the Duke’s face was near enough the Captain of the Red Guards punched his chin hard with his right fist leaving a dazed Duke, who stumbled a few steps backwards and nearly fell down on the red carpet. But he managed to gain his balance and with a loud and angry roar the Duke did not retreat, but attacked with a hard hit on Rochefort’s sword and the evil grinning man retreated.

 

“Not bad, My Lord!” He mocked as he tried to bring himself into another secure position to launch a new attack.

 

“Use only your sword, Captain!” King Louis criticised loudly, grinning brightly. He enjoyed seeing his brother-in-law tumbling but he still exclaimed  “It’s against the rules!”

 

“I wasn’t aware that we had discussed any rules for the sword fight.” Rochefort answered apologetically as he parried another attack from the Duke.

 

        The young Gascon expected the Duke to win. Rochefort was good, but the Duke was better and his anger made him stronger and more dangerous.

 

 _If he had fought yesterday like this against me, he would have had a chance to win. Had it all only been a show?_ D’Artagnan was becoming unsure. He looked questioningly at Tréville.     

 

        King Louis was in a very good mood. He hadn’t complained that some of the Musketeers had arrived after him. He was used to it. Tréville had suspiciously watched the _Inséparables_ entering the throne room. Athos was well protected by his two brothers and d’Artagnan had assured him with a short nod that everything had worked as planned. He observed Athos scanning the crowd, the barely noticeable discussion with his brothers and he could see the disappointment on Athos’ face.

        Since the illness had befallen him, he was easier to read. He feared that Athos would collapse, but his Lieutenant was stronger than he had imagined. Knowing that he was in good hands he concentrated on the sword fight between the Duke of Savoy and Rochefort.

Rochefort was cheating and Louis complained about it.

 

 _Oh, you are enjoying this way too much, Louis._ Tréville thought.

 

        The King couldn’t hide his true emotions very easily, the Duke of Savoy was the better fighter, he had the better technique and even after Rochefort had hit him hard in his face, he didn’t lose his balance. He could see the blood on his lower lip, a nasty cut but the Duke had expected something like that. He had tested Rochefort, danced around him, working out his weak spots and now Savoy launched his attack. He fought completely differently from yesterday. D’Artagnan had been better, more experienced, with more practice and training. Athos had educated him so well in the last months, but somehow the rage and anger about being hit by a fist made the Duke a very dangerous opponent. Rochefort hadn’t expected that. It took the Duke five more minutes. Rochefort’s sword clattered to the wooden floor first. His body followed only several seconds later, as the Duke used his foot to hit his right knee. A loud murmur was heard in the whole room escaping from the lips of the audience.

 

“That is for my chin!” He shouted loudly. “And no, we haven’t stated any rules!”

 

        And Rochefort landed hard on the carpet with a loud thud.

 

“But I spare you the _Who will draw blood first!_ ”

 

        The Duke of Savoy had an evil grin on his face. He slightly bowed into the direction of King Louis who looked a bit stunned at the Captain of the Red Guards. He hadn’t expected that. Not knowing what to say he slowly stood up, Rochefort was still sitting on the floor, looking furiously for his sword, he wanted to say something but a loud noise made him and the whole audience look into another direction.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_It’s hot in here and the half open window doesn’t help. My leather clothes are too warm, I need to breathe in … and out! I hope this fight will be over soon. I … I can’t get enough air … My heart … what’s wrong with my chest. Not again … the pain … it is … Arghh … my left arm hurts. Please make the itching in my chest stop .... it’s unbearable ... It was a mistake to come ... I need … air … I can’t … what’s wrong with my … arghhh … my heart …._

 

        Aramis reacted at once followed by Porthos. Both went down on their knees, while Doctor Lemay ran over to them.

 

“I think it is his heart!” Aramis was checking for a pulse, but couldn’t find one.

 

        He felt his own heart trying to escape his chest and his hands couldn’t stop shaking. It was not the time, he had to be calm, he clenched his jaws as if it could keep his emotions inside but he felt dizzy. He was tired, he tried to concentrate on his task and cursed when he couldn’t find a pulse.

 

“Let’s bring him out of here!” Lemay stated. “Porthos help us to carry him!”

 

“We need space!” Tréville shouted as a curious crowd blocked the way to the entrance.

 

        With other Musketeers he cleared the way, while Porthos and Aramis were busy helping Doctor Lemay. The Doctor was still checking with his hand for a heartbeat.

 

“There, I can feel it, his heart is beating but much too fast and irregular. We need to hurry. We need to lie him down!”

 

        The King looked shocked.

 

“What is going on!” He shouted angrily.

 

        Rochefort who was now standing next to him said. “I think the doctor has everything under control and Captain Tréville is helping, why don’t we all go to the other room and start our summit as planned?”

 

“That is a very thoughtful and a good idea, Rochefort!” Queen Anne agreed. “Poor man, it is very hot in here.”

 

**To be continued...**


	36. Stay close to me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We frightened you with our cliffhanger! Sorry about that ...  
> Enjoy this chapter and thank you for your comments.  
> ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

  
  


        The still opened glazed eyes stared at the beautiful coloured ceiling showing the judgement day, with God painted as an old wise man sitting on a throne. It had something surreal, Aramis thought. But the eyes of the man in front of him couldn’t see that anymore. They had widened in horror when his heart had throbbed more and more forcefully in his chest, as the man had tried to catch his last breath, realising that he was going to die. Next to Aramis, Doctor Lemay had checked a last time for a pulse, any sign of breathing, putting his ear on his mouth. Nothing!

 

“I am afraid, I can do no more for him!” Lemay stepped away from the man who was  deceased on the table of the small room where they had brought him. 

 

        Aramis and Porthos had put him there only two minutes ago. Now the medic looked at the blue lips of the dead nobleman he had seen several times at the court addressing the King. He was always strict with an anti-Spanish sentiment. During his lifetime he had been an arrogant count, with a short grey beard, moustache and hollow cheeks under blue narrow eyes. Now his face seemed even more emaciated.

 

“Do you think that he was poisoned, too? By the look of his bluish lips ...” Aramis asked.

 

“Yes, it could be.” Lemay bent down and opened the mouth of the man. It was reddish and swollen. “But I have to examine his corpse more closely. He came to me yesterday and complained about not feeling well. So …”

 

“So what?” Tréville asked walking nervously from one side of the room to the other, thinking hard, his hand on his forehead. As the nobleman had collapsed in the throne hall, Aramis and Porthos had helped at once. They had to leave Athos’ side. He himself had to help coordinating to bring the sick, now dead, man out of the hall into this smaller room.

 

“O’Sullivan has given him a herbal tea to help to ease the pain.”

 

“Haven’t I advised you to not let this man help you with further medical treatment?” Tréville groaned.

 

“He was …” Lemay wanted to answer, but couldn’t finish.

 

“He seems to be around every time people fall sick or die under suspicious circumstances.” Porthos growled.

 

“We have to question him!” Aramis said angrily.

 

“Has Athos recognised him?” Tréville asked, already knowing the answer.

 

“No, he wanted to check on him after … Damn!” Aramis shouted.

 

“What?” Porthos looked at him.

 

“We are all here. In this whole chaos I have let Athos out of my sight. Where is he?”

 

“I saw that d’Artagnan went over to him, as we offered our help with this poor man.” Porthos calmed Aramis, hearing his Captain breathing out loudly.

 

“But he wanted to have a closer look at O’Sullivan. Maybe he decided to do something foolish while we are here.” Aramis finished his thought.

 

“That’s enough!” Tréville thundered suddenly. “Aramis, Porthos take this O’Sullivan for questioning in the small cell in the cellar. He is our main suspect in now two suspicious deaths at the palace. I will send  other men to g uard him until I have time to question him myself. Doctor, can you please examine this corpse again and let me have your conclusions. I need to know as soon as possible and I have to find out if there is any current threat. I have to be sure that our King and Queen are safe!”

 

“Of course!” Lemay hurried to answer.

 

“Aramis, Porthos, when you have arrested O’Sullivan, find Athos and accompany him back to the garrison.” Tréville ordered.

 

“Will do, Captain!” Porthos answered while Aramis was already at the door.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        When the nobleman collapsed on the floor, Athos had just enjoyed seeing Rochefort lying on the floor, kissing the King’s black shoes. The Duke of Savoy was grinning with satisfaction in Louis’ direction. This Duke knew some bad tricks. Athos was wondering if he had asked Porthos for some advice. Now he was watching his two friends running over to the man on the floor. Anxiously, he took a step back, so that he had the wall at his back, while scanning the excited people for any possible threat against the King, the Queen or himself. His right hand was tightly wrapped around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw. As Rochefort, -whose face was still reddish from the fight and the shameful outcome it had brought him- gave the order that they should move to another room, he waited and looked around. Maybe that was his chance to speak with O’Sullivan in person, but he couldn’t see the Irish soldier anywhere. Instead, he suddenly noticed d’Artagnan standing protectively next to him.

 

“Stay close to me!” The young man ordered him with self confidence in his voice. 

 

        Athos somehow felt safe, knowing that he was not alone. 

 

_ This is all absurd. The young Gascon shouldn’t give me orders and I should stop being afraid of …  _

 

        He still had the feeling that he was being watched. Most of the people had already followed Rochefort’s order and were on their way to the other room chattering loudly. They were talking about the fight and the sticky warm air in this throne room. King Louis passed by followed by Queen Anne with Constance next to her. The Queen spotted Athos and looked at him.

 

“Athos, what are you doing here?” She asked softly.

 

“Palace guard, your Majesty!” Athos answered her, slightly irritated, because the Queen addressed him.

 

“You still look very pale, you should sit down and rest and that’s an order. Otherwise you will collapse too and I don’t want to be a witness to that.” She quietly said to him.

 

_ Aramis has told her.  _ Athos thought, angrily groaning.

 

“Constance, bring him a cup of water. Now!” The Queen ordered. “Come, Athos!” 

 

        With a gesture she prompted him to follow her to one of the small rooms at the other side of the throne room, which were usually reserved for pages. 

 

“Leave us alone!” She ordered the pages and her ladies-in-waiting, who wanted to come with her. 

 

       The room was very small, two plain chairs, a small table, no expensive furniture, no art masterpieces, except a small dark painting in a large black frame representing a bouquet of flowers, pale roses, dark red tulips and a few tiny bright blue flowers. 

 

_ Forget-me-nots _ , Athos thought, but he didn’t pay attention to the rest of the painting at that moment.  

 

“Sit!” She ordered gently, while Athos stood at attention in front of her.

 

       Sweat was forming on his forehead and chest. D’Artagnan had waited at a respectful distance, as the Queen had led his mentor away. Well aware that it would have been awkward if he followed them, he watched from a distance as Athos walked unsteadily  

 

_ The uniform weighs too much for his weak body _ , he angrily thought. 

 

       But Athos didn’t stumble. The Queen closed the door behind them, so no one could watch him, she knew Athos very well. Constance returned with a cup of water and looked questioningly at d’Artagnan.

 

“Where are they?” She asked him looking around.

 

“Queen Anne has just ordered him to follow her into this little room.” D’Artagnan showed her the closed door. “Maybe she wants to speak with him in private. I doubt that she will stay for long, she has to follow the King or she will be missed.”

 

“I will go and knock!” Constance went over to the door, followed by d’Artagnan.

 

“You still need rest Athos!” Queen Anne said to the swordsman.

 

       She had seated herself next to Athos for a short moment, so that the Musketeer allowed himself to sit too. His trembling feet felt better and he noticed that his body relaxed a bit more.

 

“Aramis?” Athos asked her with one word, while putting his heavy weapons on the small table in order to sit more comfortably.

 

“No, it was d’Artagnan or better Constance!” She explained to him. “This flu is so horrible.” She continued. “You really need to rest and not to overextend yourself.”

 

       He looked into her blue eyes which were glittering with tears.

 

“What is it your Majesty?” Athos asked calmly. 

 

_ Where is Aramis when you need him.  _

 

       He was sure that the Queen wasn’t crying because of his poorly health.

 

“I am sorry Athos. My cousin Ana-Josefa passed several days ago. She had the flu too.” She pressed his left hand, which Athos had rested on the small table to give him the chance to get up faster, if needed. “I know that she was fond of you ... She liked you and told me that she felt always safe when you were around.” Athos was taken aback. 

 

       Slowly he pulled his hand away.

 

“Ana-Josefa?” He asked. 

 

       He wanted to shake his head, but he tried to stay as calm and normal as possible and he managed to hide the emotions that were overwhelming him. Nevertheless he felt his ears ringing and his heartbeat throbbing in his chest.

 

“I … I am sorry for your loss!” He told the Queen lacking the strength to find more words. He felt slightly dizzy and his head started to ache as well. He wanted to ask more questions but it was hard for him to formulate a coherent sentence.  

 

       A knock at the door disturbed any possible further talk between them and Athos was somehow relieved by the interruption. Queen Anne quickly stood up, Athos wanted to follow her example, but she shook her head and he followed her demand without objecting. He felt his own body being simply too exhausted and he recalled Aramis’ words he had said his morning to him to sit and relax if his body lost strength. He heard a noise next to him and realised that the Queen had opened the door.

 

“Constance, thank you! Queen Anne smiled as Constance handed Athos the cup of water.

 

“Stay, rest and then go back to the garrison. That’s an order and d’Artagnan will take you home.” The Queen spoke louder as she blinked her tears away, so Constance and d’Artagnan were both witnesses of her order.

 

“But what if your husband … the King …!” He tried to protest finally finding his voice again. 

 

“I will tell him that I ordered you to rest. I don’t want to see another person collapsing in our palace today, he will agree with me. Now I must go.” The Queen smiled at him. “Get better soon! Come Constance!”

 

       With these words the Queen hurried away. Athos slowly sipped at the cup and he was grateful that Constance had brought it for him. The cool liquid felt good on his still irritated throat.

 

_ Ana-Josefa is dead?     _

 

       Alone in the small parlour, Athos closed his eyes. Too much, it was all too much! He felt the now too familiar feeling of wetness in his eyes. He clenched his jaws until they became painful. He tried to breathe in deeply but anger and sorrow were building an enormous lump in his still sore throat. The throbbing of his fast heartbeat didn’t want to leave him and thundered in his ears. He wanted to break something or to break down. He didn’t know which one of these two possibilities his body would choose if he opened his eyes.

       Either he would see the dark Flemish painting where the only spots of light were these damn tiny blue flowers, or the seat where the Queen had been sitting a few minutes ago announcing Ana-Josefa’s death. So either he would think of Milady or he would think of Ana-Josefa. Either he would break something or break down.

 

_ I must leave this place, I can’t stay, I am suffocating. My God, I have never felt so weak and overwhelmed in my whole life, even … when … Even in the darkest moments when I could barely remember my name or the name of the tavern where I was trying to drown my grief at the bottom of a glass. Never have I lost control like now, in front of the Queen! I must leave.  _

 

       Trying to pull himself together before leaving the room, Athos sucked in a deep breath which ended in a shaky small intake of air. He snorted bitterly, he was weak, his ears were buzzing, he could feel his heart beating faster in his chest and he tried to focus on the small sounds of the room, a creaking in the floor, a door slamming shut somewhere, the cry of a peacock in the garden. He was lost in thought when d’Artagnan approached him. Something was wrong, very wrong, the Gascon could sense it. Athos was shaking slightly, the pallor was back on his face and he made no attempt to stand. His fingers, shining white on his dark trousers, clenched the cup in his hand. He seemed to be far away.  The parquet floor creaked slightly under d’Artagnan’s boots but Athos didn’t move. When the young man crouched in front of him, his friend seemed to register his presence, but he didn’t say anything.

 

“Athos?” D’Artagnan whispered.    

 

       Athos had let go of the cup and his hands were now clenched on the armrests, but he didn’t answer. He knew that his state was written all over his face and he tried to build up his usual unreadable expression. 

 

“What is it?” D’Artagnan tried again laying a hesitating hand on his friend’s knee, his deep brown eyes full of understanding and fondness. 

 

“Nothing.” Athos snapped rising so violently that the young man had to steady him with a hand under his elbow and the other one on his chest.

 

“Athos, something happened. What’s the matter? Talk to me, please. I can’t help you if…”

 

“I don’t need help. I don’t need your help!” He replied in the most menacing voice he could manage. 

 

He knew he was cruel. He could see the hurt in the young man’s eyes, but soon the fondness and worry replaced it. 

 

_ Don’t look at me like that, I don’t deserve it. I failed. I failed everybody, I failed my wife, my brother, I failed Ana-Josefa, I failed you. All of you. You can’t trust me anymore. Please, don’t look at me like that.  _

 

“Athos, sit down again, you are not well, rest for a moment then I will see you to the garrison. Captain’s order.” D’Artagnan tried to joke.

 

       Athos felt his knees buckle and he had to reach for the back of the chair while gasping for more air. He felt so hot and his head started to swirl again.

 

“Tell me you are fine now!” D’Artagnan said with a small smile.

 

“I am fine, perfectly fine.” Athos replied fighting against his dizziness. 

 

“I know you! You are not ...”

 

“You don’t know me! You don’t know anything …! Now, leave me alone and go back to your duties.” Athos shouted angrily while his heart seemed to gallop in his chest and want  to escape his ribcage. 

 

_ I need to leave … I need to go somewhere, where I feel … I need … fresh air … I need to be alone … I need … D’Artagnan … please stop … I can’t bear your look right now … I can’t follow your words … I … I … I don’t know … everything is spinning … is …  _

 

       He could feel his eyes water and he didn’t want to show such a weakness to the young man.

 

“But _YOU_ are my duties for now. So …”

 

“So nothing!”  Athos gasped struggling for each of his breathes and feeling the need to escape.

 

       And Athos gathered what little strength he had left to rush outside the room, swaying dangerously but at a fast pace. D’Artagnan was startled and amazed, he reached for Athos’ weapons on the small table and tried to follow him but he was soon blocked by a group of courtiers and he lost sight of his friend. Above the feathers, braided hair and curly wigs he spotted Tréville and pushed his way through the human fowls.

 

“Follow him. Don’t let him leave alone, whether he likes it or not.” Tréville barked as soon as the young man reached him and explained what had just happened.   

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

       As Tréville rushed out of the room, Aramis and Porthos nodded to Lemay and followed him.

 

“Wait, where shall we start our search for O’Sullivan?”Porthos asked.

 

       They were standing in the corridor that was now flooded with guests of the trade summit.

 

“First we check on Athos!” Aramis shouted to Porthos as the sounds of many voices talking at the same time became louder and louder. “We have promised to watch his back. Besides if I had to guess I would say that he is near to O’Sullivan”

 

“Where shall we look?” Porthos asked, a hand on Aramis’ chest.

 

“If he has followed O’Sullivan, then we’ll go to the other room first.” 

 

       Aramis pointed in an agitated manner in the direction that they should take. He felt Porthos’ hand on his chest, then on his shoulder, calming him.

 

“D’Artagnan is with him. He will be safe. He promised …”  Porthos deep calming voice reached his friend’s ears.

 

“Yes, in theory he promised, but he was disappointed because he didn’t recognise O’Sullivan from the distance. He wants to check on him now that he has the chance. Look at all the people pressing in one direction. It would easy for him to vanish in the crowd and d’Artagnan wouldn’t be able to follow him. You know Athos!”

 

       Porthos knew exactly what Aramis meant. Even if Athos was a master of controlling and not showing his emotions very often, he was driven by them in extreme situations, and this whole “throne room gathering” was an extreme situation for the still debilitated swordsman. He had to really pull himself together to walk, to stand and to carry his heavy uniform and weapons.

 

       Now Aramis and Porthos tried to move onwards, they needed to know where their brother was. But moving onwards was harder than they expected. Now and then they were stopped and it took them several minutes to cross the small distance. They had to sidestep elbows or bear high heels crushing their feet. Finally, they arrived in front of the three great opened doors leading into the second room which was already filled with many people. Most of them were standing around, waiting for the King to appear, waiting to find out what had happened to the nobleman they had all watched collapsing. Porthos tried to scan the area searching for Athos’ leather jacket, for the taller, slim young Gascon. Nothing!

 

“I can’t see him, but I can’t see d’Artagnan or O’Sullivan either, there are too many people. Maybe he listened to us and is still waiting in the throne room. Let’s go back!” Porthos told Aramis becoming now fretful himself.

 

       Aramis sighed deeply. He took off his hat and pulled his hand through his thick hair.

 

“Let’s wait until the King and Queen have entered the second hall, then there will be fewer people in the corridor. Right now, we won’t get through very fast, the crowd is pushing against us.” Aramis stated.

 

       More and more people were passing them. Porthos could see the different colours of the costumes, the ladies were wearing beautiful dresses, in blue, red and green. He spotted a white dress - Milady - for a short moment, but she didn’t recognise him. Instead of following  the other people into the main corridor, she vanished into another aisle. 

 

_ What is she doing now? Why doesn’t she stay with the other court-ladies. Is she the perpetrator after all and has she tricked Aramis and Tréville? _

 

“Aramis, there is Milady, she is leaving. Shall I follow her?” Porthos asked Aramis.

 

“No, our priority is Athos, then O’Sullivan. Let her be!” Aramis opposed his big brother. 

 

       Finally the King and Queen passed with Constance and a lady-in-waiting some steps behind. Other Musketeers helped to clear their way, but still no sign of O’Sullivan, Athos or the Duke of Savoy. They had to press themselves closer to the wall as more and more guests stepped out of the way. Finally, after the King and the Queen had passed, Aramis and Porthos could move on. Now the corridor was empty and they could run their last steps.

       The doors of the throne room were still open, but the hall was nearly empty. Some pages and one of their Musketeer recruits were still waiting on the other side of the room, but no Athos, no d’Artagnan.

 

“François, come here!” Porthos called.

 

       The young man, more a boy, three years younger than d’Artagnan, followed the direct order of the street fighter.

 

“Have you seen Athos and d’Artagnan leaving this room?” Porthos asked a bit too harshly, concern in his voice.

 

“ _Oui, Monsieur._ ”

 

“How? When? Have they left together?” Porthos urged the boy to answer.

 

“No, at first the Queen spoke to Monsieur Athos in private in this room and then Athos left, without his weapons. D’Artagnan tried to follow him, but he had already disappeared into the crowd.”

 

“Where are his weapons?” Aramis asked, ready to check the small room the recruit had just pointed at with his finger.

 

“D’Artagnan took them with him. I heard loud voices in the room after the Queen had left, I think Athos was upset about something, but I couldn’t hear what they were talking about.” The boy tried to apologise.

 

“Have you seen in which direction d’Artagnan went?” Aramis asked impatiently.

 

“I’m not sure, but it looked like he took the door that leads to the staircase to the _ Cour des Lions. _ This way.” The boy pointed with his finger at the door they had entered half an hour ago.

 

“Thank you!” Aramis told the boy.

 

“Come Porthos, let’s find out if they both went in that direction.”

 

“And what about O’Sullivan? The Captain’s orders?”

 

“On our way out we will ask some comrades to search for him and arrest him. Come, Porthos, I have a bad feeling. Whatever has upset Athos has made him forget his weapons. He is not himself right now, he needs us! Probably the poison is confusing his mind! Move!”

 

       Aramis quickly crossed the large hall and Porthos followed him, hoping that they would find Athos soon.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

       When she heard the loud sound of the collapsing man Milady thought it had been her husband who ended up on the floor. She had spotted him earlier as Athos had arrived with Aramis and Porthos close to him.

 

_ My God, look at you, what are you doing here? You look too pale, you are in no condition to serve as a soldier today, why are you here, Athos? _

 

       Worriedly she had seen him swaying several times between Porthos and Aramis, but somehow her husband managed to stand upright. The air was thick and bad. As Aramis and Porthos jumped into action she had looked at once in Athos’ direction but he was still standing. He looked confused, frightened. She had only seen him like this once before, when he had seen his dead brother lying on the floor. She was kneeling next to him, the bloody knife still in her hands. She chased the memory away.

 

       As the court-ladies next to her started to leave the room she followed them. She spotted the Duke of Savoy, but instead of staying next to his wife who followed the mass to the other hall, the Duke vanished into a narrow corridor. Without further ado Milady decided to follow him. She wanted to know why the Duke was leaving in such a hurry, was he the perpetrator?

 

       She rushed behind him, trying to make as little noise as possible as the Duke passed several vast rooms then took a staircase leading to the first floor. He rushed back into the corridor to the direction he had just come from, then he turned at a corner. Milady followed him, but when she also reached the corner, she could no longer see him. 

 

       She spotted another, smaller staircase through an almost hidden door. Carefully she approached the door and opened it, several steep steps were leading down to the next floor. She quietly went down the steps, which was no easy task in her court shoes but when she reached the other floor the door was closed. She heard a loud bang above her, a key turned and she knew that she was caught in a trap. Angrily, she ran back up the stairs. Only a weak light coming through a very small window was lighting the steep steps and she had to be careful not to step on her dress. As she arrived on the landing, she tried to open the hidden door but it was locked.

 

_ Damn he must have noticed me.  _

 

       She reached for one of her hairpins, but she would need hours to open it with such a tool. Maybe the small dagger which she kept hidden inside her dress would be the better choice. Cursing loudly, she started to work on the old lock.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	37. What kind of help could you give me?

⚔⚔

  
  


        Tréville could hear his heavy boots thundering over the wooden floor. He ignored the people passing by, another dead person at the palace, he was sure that the nobleman had been poisoned too. He didn’t believe in a coincidence, but what did this second murder mean?

 

_ Have I been wrong the whole time? _

_ Is it a threat against King Louis and Queen Anne? And Athos was only in the wrong place at the wrong time, like the poor court-lady or this old nobleman now? _

_ I need answers. I need to question O’Sullivan? And I need to know that Athos is alright? _

_ I should have never allowed him to come here, today. _

_ He is not fit for duty, in the case of an attack he could not protect himself or others. _

_ It is ridiculous that Rochefort wanted to have him as another palace guard. _

_First things first. I need to inform the King and_ _I have to consider that the food for the King could be poisoned too._

_ No, no, no … _

 

        Angrily, he stopped in front of the entrance to the throne hall as the King passed with Rochefort. King Louis stopped, turned around and waited. 

 

_ He is waiting for someone. But for whom? _

 

“Ah Tréville, there you are. What has happened to the poor nobleman?” Louis addressed him.

 

“I am sorry, your Majesty, but he is dead.”

 

“You are joking! Dead? How?” King Louis was very concerned.

        A few seconds ago he had been joking that standing for a long time in a crowded room wasn’t easy for the poor old man, now he felt uncomfortable.

 

“I am not a doctor, your Majesty, you need to ask Doctor Lemay but as far as I could tell his heart was very weak.” Tréville explained to him.

 

“That’s horrible, maybe he had the flu too.” Rochefort said with his high-pitched voice. “Speaking of the flu, I saw Athos earlier, he still looks very pale, maybe it would be best if you sent him back to the garrison.” He added.

 

“It was you, who wanted to see him?” Tréville answered harshly. “Are you worried that he saw you losing against the Duke of Savoy?” Tréville added. 

 

He had no time for this kind of nonsense, Queen Anne had appeared at the door and she had also heard Rochefort’s last sentence.

 

“Rochefort, you should know better, why did you want to see Athos today, you should know that an officer who has had the flu still needs time to recuperate, as the Captain of the Red Guards I expected more of you, I ordered Athos to return to the garrison, he still needs to rest.”

 

        Rochefort didn’t dare to look in the eyes of the Queen, he simply bowed. Tréville also bowed in the direction of the Queen.

 

“Thank you, your Majesty!”

 

“Let’s move on!” King Louis announced impatiently. “Our guests are waiting for us. Tréville I am sure that your Musketeers have everything under control! Please inform the widow of this poor nobleman.”

 

“Yes your Majesty, I will send men to her estate.”

 

“Good! Oh, and Rochefort, go and refresh yourself, you look … well … exhausted, I thought you would win.” 

 

        Rochefort tried to stay calm.

 

“Sometimes it’s better to let your guests win, don’t you think, your Majesty?” Rochefort tried to distract from the fact that he hadn’t been better in the sword fight than the Duke.

 

“Oh come on Rochefort, really?” Tréville mocked him. 

 

        King Louis laughed out loud.

 

“Rochefort, you are funny, even if you are losing you always find a good answer or excuse to satisfy me. Alright, my Queen, let’s forget that horrible incident now and we will listen to music, see the newest trade items we have bought over the last weeks and enjoy a wonderful meal and best of all, I don’t have to sit at the same table as my brother-in-law.”          

 

        Louis had already forgotten about the dead corpse in the next room. This day was much too important for him. With these words the King and Queen made their way to the next hall, while Rochefort vanished in the other direction. Tréville sighed, as he looked around, he saw some of his Musketeers helping to escort the King and the Queen. He looked into the empty throne room and hoped that he would see Athos somewhere but nothing, his Lieutenant was nowhere to be seen. The Queen had spoken to him, so maybe d’Artagnan was already on his way back to the garrison with Athos. A voice interrupted his thoughts.

 

“Captain!” Baffled, he turned around, knowing who’s the voice was. 

 

“D’Artagnan what are you doing here, where is Athos?” He looked around for him but Athos was nowhere to be seen.

 

“I have lost him in the crowd. He … he left …”

 

“What?”

 

        Tréville looked more closely at the Gascon and he could see that d’Artagnan was holding Athos’ weapons in his hands.

 

“Please tell me, he isn’t alone, without any of his weapons, without any protection?” Tréville shouted angrily.

 

“I tried to follow him, but …”

 

“Go after him!” Tréville ordered the young Gascon. Hurry!”

 

“Yes, Captain!” D’Artagnan rushed away.

 

        Tréville was worried, Athos was on his own. Aramis and Porthos were searching for O’Sullivan and d’Artagnan had lost him. His worst nightmare had come true. He felt the urge to follow d’Artagnan, but he couldn’t. His duty was to protect the King.

 

_ Please Athos don’t do something foolish. Maybe you just needed some fresh air … You promised me …  _

 

        Tréville was disturbed by Dr. Lemay, who suddenly stood in front of him.

 

“Captain, I have checked the corpse of the nobleman a second time and he was poisoned I am certain. He had a red rash on his arm, his mouth was swollen he could barely get enough air and his lips were blue. All signs were that he has been poisoned with belladonna too. After you told me your suspicion I checked the corpse of the dead court-lady yesterday too and she had the same symptoms. I’m afraid I have to assume that O’Sullivan has something to do with it. He has knowledge of how poisonous plants work and he treated the court-lady and the nobleman and he tried to treat Athos too.” He nervously wiped his hands on his trousers.

 

“Thank you Doctor.” 

 

        Tréville turned around and called some more of his Musketeers and ordered them to search for O’Sullivan too. Then he rushed after the King and the Queen, he needed to be sure that they were not also threatened but somehow he doubted that. Someone had been planning this for days now and it had nothing to do with the trade summit. He had to inform Rochefort, the Red Guards needed to help with the protection in the palace, so that he could concentrate and focus better on this Irish merchant. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

        Athos walked in a haze, making his way through a crowd of noisy guests, courtiers and servants, but he didn’t see men or women, just a multicoloured fog. He could hear loud voices, pulsing music and the sound of heels on the wooden floor, mirroring his fast heartbeat. He even heard his name, but he wasn’t sure and even if he could be certain, he had no intention of stopping.  He wanted to leave, to leave everything behind him, he wanted it over, all of this, all his mind and body knew, was that he had to flee but flee what? Past, present, future? Darkness … Only darkness. He was trying to flee the darkness.

 

Barely noticing that a page had dropped a tray, letting it clatter to the floor the grieving Musketeer reached the large doors opening onto the huge gardens. He pushed them open and stopped abruptly on the front steps to breathe in deeply. He raised his head towards the sky and looked straight at the sun until his vision became painful and blurry, but even this cheerful weather couldn’t bring back the light in his mind. 

 

        He briefly thought of his friends, their worry, their care, their love but he chased the idea away, he didn’t deserve them, he was a burden that they didn’t need to carry. He stumbled towards the high arch leading to the outside of the palace. There, in the nearly chilling shade, his weakness forced him to stop. He leaned against the wall and put his burning forehead on the cold rough stones.

 

“ _Monsieur_ , you don’t seem well, may I help you?”

 

        The hand on his shoulder startled him and he turned around, eyes blazing.

 

“Help?” He snorted bitterly. “What kind of help could you give me?”

 

“I know enough about medicine, I could find something to …”

 

“Away with you!” Athos snapped pushing an amazed O’Sullivan away.

 

“But Monsieur Athos, you shouldn’t …”

 

Athos didn't listen to him. He continued his mad walk at a more and more unsteady pace towards the bridge which he needed to take to reach the garrison. His paces instinctively led him to the place where he would feel safe, but suddenly he didn’t know what he wished anymore ... 

 

        O’Sullivan watched after him for a moment before he also left the palace.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ Look at you … You are as strong as a newborn foal. Of course you don’t need help … You won’t need my help to die, and maybe that’s what you wish. I saw this emptiness in your eyes, you are angry, you are desperate, you are in pain. What are you looking for? Where are you going? Good. You are making my task easier. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Captain Tréville could sense the danger. The calm before the storm as he walked back into the other hall, where the King just opened the second part of his feast. He looked for something suspicious but saw nothing. The Duke of Savoy was not at the table, his wife looked lost. He needed to talk to Rochefort, but the Captain of the Red Guards had not returned. Probably he was still in his quarters, changing.

 

_ Have I been wrong the past days? _

_ Have I drawn the wrong conclusions? _

_ Is there something bigger going on and have I misinterpreted all the signs? _

 

        Strained, he thought about all the facts they had gathered so far, from the way in which Athos had been poisoned, to the deaths of the young court-woman and the nobleman a few minutes ago. Where was the connection?   

 

_ Alright let’s assume that all four poisoned persons witnessed a conspiracy against the King or the Queen? _

_ As the culprit I would try to eliminate them as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t work with that type of poison because they still would have enough time to warn others about the complot they have witnessed. Athos certainly would have remembered. _

_ What do all four people have in common? _

_ Two were poisoned in the palace, but Athos and the dressmaker were poisoned outside the palace. _

_ The court-lady and Athos can easily reach the Queen, but this nobleman can’t. _

_ The court-lady and the nobleman had complained about health problems and O’Sullivan was treating them with his medicine. He tried to cure Athos too, but he was sent by Doctor Lemay. _

_ Who was the first person to be poisoned? _

_ Was it Athos? The court-lady? _

_ No, the dressmaker was forced to poison Athos and she had the poison on her hands. She was the first victim, followed by Athos, then the court-lady, then yesterday the nobleman. _

_ If O’Sullivan is the culprit maybe the court-lady had witnessed him checking the rooms of the late Cardinal, looking for answers as to who had killed his brother-in-arms. When he somehow found out that Athos had killed him he was looking for revenge. But why kill the dressmaker? It doesn’t make any sense.        _

_ Alright, let’s assume the court-lady witnessed him. _

_ Maybe she wanted to warn the Queen … _

_ The Queen … the Queen spoke to Athos and afterwards he left, left without taking his sword or his pistols … he must know something … _

_ And the nobleman … maybe he was poisoned to distract us … to look in the wrong direction. _

_ Maybe I am going to make the biggest mistake of my career right now, but I doubt that the King is in any current danger, I have enough men securing the palace. _

_ I need to find O’Sullivan and I need to talk to Rochefort.    _

 

        Tréville looked around, he couldn’t see the Comte anywhere, but he spotted Villefort, his second-in-command, one of the few competent men of the Red Guards. The Captain of the Musketeers made a quick decision.

 

“Villefort, we need to talk!”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“I need more Red Guards at the palace, the nobleman who just collapsed in the throne room, was poisoned. I’m not sure why, but I think O’Sullivan has something to do with it. My men are looking for him. I need to leave, but I trust you with the security of the King. Inform Rochefort!”

 

        Villefort briefly nodded. Tréville didn’t wait for an answer, but left the hall in a hurry. If he was right Athos was in mortal danger, his Lieutenant had been tricked to come here today. How he couldn’t say. Maybe that was the conversation that O’Sullivan had with Rochefort in the sidestreet. He didn’t know but he could easily imagine that Rochefort had told O’Sullivan that Athos had killed his friend. Tréville ran down the corridor, down the steps, down into the court.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        D’Artagnan cursed loudly as he fought the laces, brocades and ridiculous wigs barring his path. He couldn’t see Athos anywhere but he assumed that he had headed to the gardens or maybe even farther. Surely, he had left the palace.  He was taller than most of the people in the rooms and corridors, but it didn’t help. He suddenly had to stop as he spotted a young servant on the floor in the middle of a puddle of wine and glass shards. The poor boy had tears in his eyes and he was flushed. D’Artagnan crouched beside him and helped him on his feet while other servants rushed up to clean the floor.

 

“He was running. He hit me and I dropped the tray.” The boy stammered nearly in tears.

 

“Who?”

 

“A … Musketeer ... Like you.”

 

“Where did he go?”

 

“I … he … there!” The boy exclaimed pointing with his trembling forefinger in the direction of the gardens.

 

        D’Artagnan started running again ignoring the amazed look of the poor page. He reached the large doors opening onto the beautiful gardens where he paused. What direction should he take? Should he search the whole park? Should he search in the streets around the palace?

 

A fresh wet wind ruffled his hair and he startled. A terrifying idea made its way through his mind. The Seine! 

 

_ Please, Athos. You can’t. You are not so … Just don’t! _

 

        And he started running again towards the muddy dirty banks of the river.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Athos’ strength was fading very quickly. When he arrived on the muddy bank, he could barely breathe and stay upright. The contrast between the place he had just left and this one was appalling. He had left gilt furnitures to find old crates and broken shutters. He had left perfumes and rich food to find stench, mouldy bread and rotten fish. He had left silk and brocades to find worn out rags. He had left beautiful young women to find ill and exhausted young women.

He had to lean several times on old walls to steady himself. He was shouted at by men, women and skinny dirty children trying to sell him fish, knives or ribbons. He ignored them and slowly made his way towards the water.

 

_ How can the King be so blind? _ He gasped.

 

He stopped and looked at his feet. He stood at the very edge of the bank. His boots were muddy and he couldn’t identify all the things he was walking on. Bones, rotten vegetables, broken objects. It made him feel sick and he felt the nausea coming back, then he looked at the murky water. He felt dizzy and worst of all, he felt attracted by the swirls in the dirty river. Suddenly, he gasped. He had noticed a move out of the corner of his eye, a black shadow. He turned his head towards the apparition, but he couldn’t see anyone dressed in black in the tattered crowd gathered between the ruined cabins and the water. 

 

_ My God, what’s the matter with me? Why can’t I think straight anymore? Am I becoming crazy? Am I hallucinating again? Anyway. Is it so important?  _

 

He stepped forward a little, testing the sticky earth with the tip of his boot.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

        D’Artagnan stopped as he spotted a shade of light blue amongst the brownish clothes of the common people attending their business on the banks of the Seine. He stopped breathless. At last, he had found him. What was Athos doing? He was so close to the edge.

 

_ Christ, Athos. What are you doing? Don’t do anything foolish. Just wait for me …  _

 

He resumed his walk and had to push away a lot of children and women. It was not like him to disregard people but now the priority was Athos, suddenly he lost sight of the blue cloak. A man in a hooded black costume blocked his view for a moment but when he disappeared … Athos was nowhere to be seen.

 

_ What? Where are you? Please, tell me you didn’t ... _

 

He started to run, ears buzzing, heart hammering in his chest. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ What happened? Why this pain? I must keep my lungs full of air. Don’t breathe, Athos. Don’t breathe. I was so hot and now I am freezing. Green swirls are driving me towards the depths … I feel numb … It’s so peaceful … No more pain … The sun is shattered into a million of glistening shards … It’s so beautiful … I should have removed my uniform and my cape …  I have to breathe now …  I will breathe in troubled green water … Anyway … It’s for the best … Shadows … Shadows at the surface … I should fight … The stream drives me towards the surface … No, it’s not necessary … It’s so peaceful here … Please, let me disappear … a face … an open mouth … Someone is calling me … Hands … No, please, let me go … You will fall … I want to stay … Let me go … _

 

**_To be continued..._ **


	38. I don’t want to lose him

⚔⚔

 

“Athooooos!” D’Artagnan shouted terrified.

 

        A curious crowd was gathering around him.

 

“Was bad, poo’ fella.” A toothless beggar told him. “Lots of ‘hem do tha’. Every day!”

 

        D’Artagnan threw him a murderous look all the while removing his cape, leathers and weapons. A man reached for the sword.

 

“Do it and you are dead! All of you!” He menaced before sliding down the slippery slope.

 

“Sir, I keep an eye on tha’ fo’ you.” A big bald man with arms twice as muscular as Porthos’ assured him. “Can’t swim, Sir, so I can’t help, but I’ll help you to fish tha’ poor guy out.”

 

D’Artagnan nodded gratefully, not sure if he trusted him, but he had no time to think further. The muddy waters were swirling, swallowing his brother, big bubbles already forming at the surface.  _ Not a good sign!  _ D’Artagnan took a deep breath and dived trying to see under the surface. He had to do it again several times -breathing, diving, searching the greenish flows, reaching the surface to breathe deeply- before, at last, he could see Athos. As soon as he saw his unmoving elegant fingers floating almost ghostly in the yellowish-green reflections, just a few inches from his eyes, he seized them and curled an arm around his friend’s chest.

 

_ Don’t die, please, don’t die. You can’t die being mad at me. You can’t. I am here now. My God, you are heavy. Your clothes are pulling us down. This water is so cold. Help me Athos. I need you … _

 

D’Artagnan violently kicked his legs to bring the two of them back to the surface. Luckily, the stream hadn’t taken them too far away from the bank. He finally emerged and he swam backstroke, Athos’ chin blocked in the inside of his elbow, to keep him afloat, and his other arm furiously kicking the water to make them reach the shore. Suddenly, he felt himself hauled up. The bald man had seized him under the armpits and was bringing them back to the muddy bank.

D’Artagnan collapsed on the ground, Athos lying on him, unresponsive. The young Musketeer just spat out all the dirty water he could, sucked in a few deep breaths and rolled Athos onto his side. Immediately, the man began to vomit a stream of fetid liquid,  shuddering violently and moaning.

 

“Here, Sir. A blanket.” An elderly woman handed him something that had maybe been a blanket years ago, but it was better than nothing and d’Artagnan nodded gratefully.

 

        D’Artagnan sat up and laid Athos across his lap and with great difficulty tried to remove the blue cape and the leather jacket. Athos’ head lolled but he didn’t open his eyes. When he felt d’Artagnan manhandling him, he suddenly opened his eyes.

 

“Wha…” He began, eyes wide and unfocused, struggling in d’Artagnan’s arm. “Le … me … o ...!”

 

“Be quiet, you selfish fool.” D’Artagnan mumbled feeling an anger he had rarely felt towards the man, an anger built from fear.

 

        Athos tried to sit upright but a wave of pain and dizziness overwhelmed him.

 

“Stop that. I need to undress you!” D’Artagnan chided.

 

Athos calmed down enough to let the young man finish his task.

 

“‘s that … your … new entertainment?”

 

“Funny …” D’Artagnan replied without an ounce of humour. “What were you thinking? You could have died!” He shouted.

 

        He was cold, shivering violently. Athos looked at him with amazed eyes and d’Artagnan could read such a despair in those grey-green depths that he froze.

 

“So … sorry.” He mumbled teeth chattering.

 

        Athos took his hand.

 

“You are cold.”

 

“So are you, you grumpy idiot.” D’Artagnan replied fondly gathering his friend against his chest.

       The woman wrapped them both in the blanket smelling of soot and fish. D’Artagnan looked up at the emaciated grimy faces staring at them and his eyes watered. He felt all his strength leave his body and he held more tightly onto the shivering body in his arms letting his head drop onto the wet curls of his friend as he tried to stay calm and not to burst into tears like a frightened child. 

 

_ Porthos, Aramis, where are you? I need you. _

 

“Boy, d’you want me to find someone? I’ll ask me son. Fast runner he is.”

 

       D’Artagnan was ready to answer when he heard a cry. Athos struggled in his arms to stand up. The young man was amazed at how quickly Athos managed to be on his feet, swaying dangerously but trying to display enough strength and pride to welcome a furious Aramis.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

       Aramis could hear his heart beating, the thundering of Porthos’ boots next to him, the clashing of their swords as they bounced over the hard ground. Both men were running down towards the  _ Seine _ , down to an unknown destiny.

       The river was only a short distance away from the palace but for the second time that day they were stopped by masses of people. What had happened to cause his friend to leave  _ le Louvre _ , without waiting for them, without his weapons, without explaining why he needed to leave?             

 

_ Please God, let him be alright! I don’t want to lose him. Not now! We have … he has fought too hard in the last few days to stay alive. _

 

“Which way?” He heard Porthos’ voice far away as he stopped at a crossing to orientate himself.

 

       Aramis looked frantically around them. Near the bridge a crowd of about fifty people had gathered, they all looked in the same direction, towards the river.

 

“There!” He pointed at the men, women and children who didn’t move. “God no, please tell me that Athos didn’t jump into the river. He won’t survive this!” He shouted, his voice now full of anxiety.

 

“He wouldn’t be that foolish!” Porthos firmly stated, as they continued their fast running. 

 

       They had to push through both men and women, their boots slipping on the sticky earth.

 

“Out of our way!” Porthos howled, as he tried to avoid hurting people.

 

       Several times he had to ruggedly push aside curious children. He was now leading, while Aramis was simply following him. Porthos was worried. Athos could sometimes act emotionally, not rationally, especially with this poison still running through his veins, but he had given them his word that he would stay, wait.

 

_ What is driving you Athos? What demon of your past is haunting you? Don’t you know that we are there for you? There is no reason to be ashamed! You have saved our lives, my life so many times. _

 

       Porthos stopped abruptly and Aramis collided with his back.

 

“What?” He exclaimed angrily stepping next to Porthos who was frozen.

 

“Is he … is he …?” He whispered looking at Athos whose head was resting in d’Artagnan’s lap. 

 

       The young Gascon looked so frightened, so wet … Porthos couldn’t move. Next to him he very slowly realised that Aramis was exploding. The shout that the medic gave, hurt his ears. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to say something, to grab Aramis, but his brother was now in a furious mood and to his great astonishment he saw Athos getting up. Slowly, very slowly he fought against d’Artagnan’s hold and struggled to stand up. He swayed dangerously, he was pale, more dead than alive, but he took several unsteady steps towards Aramis.

       Aramis had had enough, seeing Athos soaked through, smelling the strong scent of fish, mud and dirt was too much, and for a short moment Aramis lost it, lost his self-control, his natural caring thinking. With a loud roar he stormed forwards.

 

“You fool! You stupid fool! What were you thinking?” He shouted at Athos, while he grabbed him at the wet collar of his once white shirt. 

 

       He pulled him angrily towards his chest, so that their faces nearly touched.

 

“Can’t you just one time listen to me. You just had to wait! To …” Aramis stopped as he realised that Athos wanted to say something. 

 

       The weak man took another step towards him. He looked horrible, his eyes were reddish, his face paler than before, he was trembling and suddenly his knees gave away.

 

“Aramis … help … me ...” Athos mumbled in a low voice that only Aramis could hear. 

 

       He was trembling and the medic needed all his strength to hold him in a strong grip to prevent them both from falling down. To secure his grip on his friend Aramis put his left hand on the lower back of Athos, stabilising him with his right arm around his shoulders, his right hand under his armpit.

 

“Mis … I wan … home …” Athos sobbed while his head dropped and rested on Aramis’ shoulder, shudders running through his whole body.

 

       Aramis felt something wet and clammy on his left hand and he smelt the typical odour of blood. Before he could say anything, the swordsman collapsed in his arms and Aramis needed all his strength not to land with his broken friend on the ground.

 

       Porthos suddenly stood next to him.

 

“Aramis, what is it?” He softly whispered as he saw Aramis’ anxious eyes. “Is he …” Porthos swallowed hard.

 

“No, I can feel his breath ... “ Aramis tried to calm Porthos. 

 

       D’Artagnan was watching, eyes wide, a scared expression in his dark brown irises. He couldn’t move and his body couldn’t stop shivering. Had he been too late? What had happened? Then Aramis moved his left hand to have a better look at his palm. Blood …

 

_ What has happened to you? Did you cut yourself on a stone?     _

 

“We need to lay him down. Porthos, get the wagon, fetch doctor Lemay. He must come to the garrison. Now!” He urged. 

 

       Aramis’ anger had vanished and his medic mode had taken over, Porthos didn’t wait for an explanation, he could hear the urgency in Aramis’ voice and he knew he had to hurry. He wanted to stay, to help Aramis lay Athos on the floor. He pressed his blue cape in d’Artagnan’s hands as the young Musketeer started to support Athos’ back. 

 

“Keep him safe.” Porthos mumbled before turning around. 

 

       With all his willpower, he ran the way back to the small courtyard where they had left the wagon an hour ago. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

       Tréville felt the warm air on his face mixed with the fresh breeze from the Seine. He looked around and spotted Henri, who came running his way.

 

“Captain!” He shouted.

 

“What is it Henri?” Tréville looked at the experienced older Musketeer. 

 

       His brown hair already started to grow grey. He was a silent and calm man, never speaking much so his agitated state made Tréville even more worried.

 

“Aramis has ordered me to look for O’Sullivan!” He said out of breath.

 

“And?”

 

“We have looked everywhere in the palace, but nothing. One of the Red Guards just told Hubert that they saw O’Sullivan leaving the palace. He had been speaking with Athos.”

 

_ What did Athos and O’Sullivan talk about? _

 

       Tréville thought about the latest news.   

 

“Have you any information where O’Sullivan went?” He asked. “Did they leave together and where is Athos?”

 

“I am sorry we lost O’Sullivan’s lead, but he is not at the palace anymore. According to the Red Guards Athos left without O’Sullivan, but ...”

 

“But what …”

 

“The Red Guard has said that Athos had troubles keeping himself upright. He nearly fell down the stairs …”

 

“Do you know in which direction Athos left?”

 

“In the direction of the Seine. I have told Aramis and Porthos, they went after him.”

 

       Tréville wanted to ask a further question, but was disturbed by loud footsteps running into the court.

 

“Henri, I need the wagon, now!” Porthos shouted, his loud voice echoing over the high walls and windows.

 

“Porthos?” Tréville looked into the shocked eyes of his big Musketeer.

 

“It’s Athos … he … he fell into the Seine?”

 

“He what …?” Tréville tried to collect his thoughts. 

 

       His mouth wide open, he looked unbelievingly at Porthos. He noticed that Porthos’  blue cape was missing.

 

“Aramis and d’Artagnan are with him. We will bring him back to the garrison, can you send Doctor Lemay, please?” Porthos explained while climbing onto the wagon and whistling at the horses.

 

“Porthos, is … is ... he … alright?” Tréville wanted to know.

 

“I am not sure? I think Aramis could use the help of Doctor Lemay.” Porthos shouted over his shoulder, whilst rushing the horses. Tréville felt a shudder running down his spine. 

  
_ No Athos, what happened to you? Please, be alive …    _ __

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	39. Fight for your life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be patient, we don't know if we will post a new chapter before next week. ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

  
  


        Aramis had hoped that Athos would stay unconscious while they were trying to get rid of his wet clothes, but Athos moaned out loud as they started the procedure, being watched by so many bystanders. Aramis only hoped that Athos wouldn’t be aware of it. He seemed in a great deal of pain, shivering and obviously not himself, Aramis could tell by the haunted look in his eyes.

_ Oh Athos, what made you leave the palace, go to the Seine and fall into it? I am sorry for having shouted at you? It’s only … I was afraid of losing you … again. I am here now, I will bring you back home. _

 

“D’Artagnan, help me.” Aramis shouted at the too quiet young man. “We need to undress him.” While his hand still rested on Athos’ back.

 

“He … is … c … c … cold.” Athos stammered, teeth chattering.

 

“Jesus, Athos! Can’t you just think of yourself first, for once. I know he is cold, but he, for one, isn’t losing his blood all over the banks of the  _ Seine _ , and he hasn’t been poisoned recently.” Aramis chided to hide the fear in his voice.

 

“Mmhhh …” Athos whimpered and tried to turn his head away. Aramis’ loud voice hurt his ears. 

 

        D’Artagnan suddenly came back to reality and scrambled on his knees to reach his friends.

 

“Help me, we must undress him.” Aramis said in a lower voice.

 

        He began to seize the hem of Athos’ shirt, but the stubborn man pushed his hands away.

 

“Will you behave, now, Athos? Do you really want to die? I thought you were a fighter! Where is the warrior?” Aramis nearly shouted.

 

“Athos …” D’Artagnan whispered with difficulties in Athos’ ear. “Are you so … s … selfish … that … you would let me … save … you … and not fight … for your life the next moment?”

 

“Just do it … But… is … it … really ... your new fa … fa … vourite … en ... entertainment?”

 

“Yes, Athos, you are right I really enjoy it!” D’Artagnan laughed.

 

“What are you talking about?” Aramis asked eyes wide.

 

“Nothing.” Athos and d’Artagnan answered in unison.

 

        Athos finally agreed to being manhandled like a big ragdoll.

 

“Aramis …” D’Artagnan whispered showing his hands covered in blood.

 

“I know, d’Artagnan, but the priority is to keep him warm.”

 

“He … he … is … still here, you know Ar … Aramis.” Athos stammered. “And … and … he is not … the only one … here. Mmmmh.”

 

Indeed, the crowd of beggars and fishmongers was still there, looking curiously at the three Musketeers. 

 

“How is the pain, Athos?” Aramis asked quietly.

 

“I don’t feel… it … I … just … cold … Icy cold … am so … sorry …” Athos was clearly fighting to keep his eyes open. “I can’t … feeeel my ha … ndss … Mis … what … s … wr … ong …?”

 

“Stay with me Athos, come on, fight! Now, it’s almost done. We won’t undress you completely, we will respect your modesty.” Aramis smiled as he wrapped his friend in the blanket again. A frown was plastered on his forehead. He hoped that Athos’ wound hadn’t damaged any vital organs. He wiped the thought away, then he addressed d’Artagnan. 

 

“Take off your clothes, d’Artagnan.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Your clothes, take them off.” Aramis repeated.

 

“No, it’s fine, I am not very cold.”

 

“I know, that’s why I ask you to remove your wet shirt. Then you will come here under the blanket while we wait for Porthos.”

 

“Under … the … ?” D’Artagnan asked stunned.

 

“Yes, sharing body heat is a good way to stay alive, and you will take that cloth and press it to his wound.” Aramis said handing him a cloth.

 

        D’Artagnan came nearer and did as he was asked. He shivered as his drenched shirt left his cold body but Aramis urged him to sit with Athos, their backs against the planks of an old cabin. He gathered the shivering man in his arms, reached for the wound on Athos’ back and he pressed the cloth on it. Aramis wrapped them both in the blanket, his cape and the one Porthos had left.

 

“Ri … ri … di … di … culous.” Athos huffed against d’Artagnan’s neck.

 

“Yes, maybe, but effective, so now, be quiet and let us take care of you.” Aramis sighed.

 

        He laid his hand on Athos’ shoulder. He tried to protect both his brothers from the curious looks, but he didn’t need to wait long. From the distance he could hear Porthos roaring, his voice filled with anger and fear:

 

“Out of the way, out of the way!”   

 

        Aramis hated the creaking loud sound of the wooden wheels without knowing why. Maybe because it reminded him of that dreadful day when they had found him in Savoy and the hours spent in a similar wagon. He felt his throat constricting and had to briefly close his eyes to erase the bad memories. It wasn’t the time. 

 

_ Breathe, Aramis.  _

 

        Porthos stopped the wagon next to Athos. The two horses now blocked the view to the many onlookers and Aramis was grateful for it. 

 

“We need to get him … both of them onto the wagon. They are freezing!”

 

        Porthos jumped down and kneeled next to Athos and d’Artagnan.

 

“Can you please explain to me why you think today is the perfect day to take a swim?” He tried to joke, well aware of the tenuous situation both his brothers were in. 

 

        He looked at his two wet brothers. D’Artagnan was alright, wet, but alright after all, but Athos wasn’t. All the improvement of the last two days was gone. Porthos looked in horror at the picture of misery of the man on the hard ground. Athos’ eyes were unfocused, but open, his hair was wet and his hands and feet were trembling. He could hear d’Artagnan’s teeth chattering and he was terrified by Athos’ moaning, not a loud, but a soft moan.

 

“Weeee … thought …. it wassss  time … to … start … the summmmer … seeeaassson.” D’Artagnan teeth clattered as he tried to answer with a joke.

 

“Woahhh! You are both very lucky. Let’s get you out of here and into the warmth. D’Artagnan do you think you can stand on your own?” Porthos asked softly, laying a hand on his shoulder that was still covered with his blue cape.

 

“I think soooo ..., but I …. neeeeeed to stick ... close to Athos ..., soooo that he hasss enough  hhh ... warmthssss ...”

 

“It’s alright, lad!” Aramis told him. “Keep Porthos’ cape, I will help Athos onto the wagon.” He added. 

 

        D’Artagnan followed Aramis’ orders. He slowly stood up, then he turned around and fetched their soaked clothes. With the utmost care, he picked Athos’ favourite leather jacket up. For a moment he just stood there and stared at it.

 

_ Am I dreaming? Have I really just saved Athos from drowning in the Seine? Why did he jump? Or did he fall? Why did I leave him alone? If I had been only a few seconds too late, he would be …  _

 

        Tears formed in his eyes, which he angrily blinked away, while looking at Athos’ shuddering body on the floor. He was torn from his thoughts as he heard the weak man speaking.

 

“I can … gmmh … my … seeellffff.” Athos, still very confused, tried to protest. 

 

_ Where am I? What has happened? I nearly drowned, but why? How did I end up in the river? If it hadn’t been for d’Artagnan … My God … No wonder Aramis was so upset with me. And the boy …  _

 

        Athos tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t. He felt Aramis’ hand on his shoulder and then two strong arms lifting him into a more upright position. 

 

_ Porthos … it must be him.  _

 

        Athos tried to look into Porthos’ dark eyes. His vision became blurred and he felt dizzy. If it hadn’t been for Porthos’ strong, but very gentle grip, he would have fallen again on the hard ground. A sudden noise made Athos shiver, somewhere a wooden box had slipped from a merchant’s hand. The loud noise sounded like a pistol shot and for a short moment Athos had a flashback:

 

        A man, hidden under a black hood, was standing behind him. He felt a sharp pain in his lower back. He had stumbled forward, couldn’t hold himself anymore and then cold, cold water around him. His hands had gripped at nothing. A scream had escaped his surprised lips. The man … did he say something to him? He couldn’t remember.

 

“A … man!” Athos said shaking in Porthos’ arms, his voice hoarse, his gaze unfocused. 

 

        Porthos fastened his grip and looked around worriedly. Aramis hearing Athos’ agitated voice scanned the crowd. Was somebody watching them? Had Athos been followed? He looked into prying dirty faces of men, women, children. He didn’t notice anyone suspicious. O’Sullivan was nowhere to be seen, he scanned the crowd a second time.

 

“Where Athos?” Porthos asked softly, hearing the distress and anxiety in Athos’ trembling voice. “What do you want to tell me?” He whispered in his ear, but there was no reply.

 

        Athos clasped his hands around Porthos’ neck and trembled even stronger. Porthos wasn’t sure if it was because his brother was freezing or because he was afraid of something. Maybe both.

 

“Aramis, help me to get him onto the wagon!” Porthos announced. “We have to bring him back quickly, something is not right!”  

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ How many lives does this bastard have? I didn’t plan to drown him, but it would have been perfect … Damn … this annoying boy …! I hope that I hit his kidney … I must have hit it … he is bleeding like hell. _

_ The blanket they have covered him with, is already bloody … He said  something … did he see … my face … I doubt it … he was too busy with his own self-pity, sorrow …  _

_ Damn the medic is looking in my direction … a second time now … I’ll have to leave …  _

_ And I need to take precautions … better to get rid of him too …  _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Athos started to moan as the strong pain in his back suddenly came back. Aramis was still pressing the cloth on the wound.

 

“Alright Athos, we will lift you now onto the wagon.” Athos heard Aramis’ voice next to his ear. 

 

        He pressed his head harder on Porthos’ chest. Another bout of shivers ran down his spine. Someone was watching them … him … he could feel it. He felt so helpless, so afraid, so alone. Porthos’ strong arms were still holding him.

 

“Help me … Por … th … os!” He slurred, trying to fight against his tears, his emotions. “There is … some …” He couldn’t say more.  

 

        His voice broke as Porthos and Aramis lifted him at that moment onto their wagon. Aramis wrapped the blanket a bit tighter around his shivering body, stroking over his back.

 

“You have to let go of Porthos, now. He has to drive us back.” Aramis soothed. 

 

        But Athos didn’t let go, both arms still holding Porthos in a death grip. Porthos wondered where the weak man took his strength from.

 

“It’s alright, you will be fine, we will bring you back. You are safe.” Porthos tried to calm Athos’ anxiety

 

“Don’t …”

 

“Don’t what, Athos? Come on, talk to me.”

 

        Athos swallowed hard.

 

“Don’t leave me … alone … I …”

 

“Shhh … I’m here now. Sorry for the delay … but we have you. Do you hear me? We have you!” 

 

        Porthos had to fight his own tears. His brother seemed so lost, so frightened. What had occurred in these past few minutes? Why had they lost sight of him? Why had he nearly drowned in the  _ Seine _ ?

 

“Athos, let him go, I’m here, d’Artagnan is here, you are safe!” Aramis took over.

 

        They shared a frightened look. Athos was afraid of something, someone, but he couldn’t articulate his fear. He couldn’t tell them what was going on in his exhausted mind, and Aramis knew that they had to hurry. Slowly, very slowly he stroked over Athos shoulders, and finally the wounded man let go of Porthos’ neck.

 

“Help me to lay him onto his stomach.” Aramis ordered as Athos closed his haunted, hurting eyes. 

 

        Porthos did as he was asked, while d’Artagnan climbed next to Athos on the trunk of the wagon. Too shocked to say anything, he clutched his trembling hands around the wet clothes which formed a stinking bundle in his arms. He watched Aramis tucking Athos tighter in the blanket and in his own blue cape. Athos was freezing, trembling and he started to moan again. D’Artagnan put the clothes next to him, then he lifted the blanket and laid down against his miserable mentor, trying to give him some comfort through his own body heat, as Aramis had advised him earlier. He shivered when his slightly warmed skin met the cold body of his friend, but he ignored it and slung an arm around Athos’ shoulders, his nose in the wet curls. He could hear Aramis softly talking to Athos:     
  


“You asked for my help, my friend, now, it’s time to listen to me.” Aramis softly whispered in his ear. 

 

        The Gascon was still shivering, but he was much better than Athos. When the  swordsman felt d’Artagnan’s heat, a shiver ran through his painful body. The warmth felt good, but it allowed him to feel sensations again. He was gripped by another unbearable pain emanating from his lower back.

 

“Arghhhh …” He moaned louder than before. 

 

        Aramis who was still keeping pressure on the bleeding wound jumped into action. 

 

“Athos, can you tell me where it hurts? Or just show me with your hand.” 

 

“My … back …” Athos answered wheezing. 

 

D’Artagnan squeezed his shoulder, stroking gently with his thumb.

 

“Anywhere else?” Aramis wanted to know.

 

“Noooo …” Athos moaned.

 

        It was now that Porthos registered the blood soaking through the cloth Aramis was pressing on Athos’ back. 

 

“That is what you didn’t want to tell me earlier!” He chided Aramis. “What has happened? Why are you bleeding, Athos?” 

 

        Athos didn’t answer Porthos’ question. He tried to regulate his breathing, fearing that the palpitation of his heart would start again. He felt horrible. 

 

“Maybe a stone cut him there as he was drifting in the  _ Seine _ .” Athos heard Aramis’ voice from the distance. 

 

        He tried to focus on his voice, but it was harder and harder. Exhausted, he closed his eyes. His head lolled to the side and he wanted to succumb to the darkness, but he couldn’t. A soft slap on his cheek brought him back to awareness.

 

“Stay awake, Athos! Do you hear me? It is important to stay awake now!”

 

“I can ... tt”. His teeth clattered together.

 

“Oh, yes you can, if you can walk alone through the streets of Paris and take a nosedive into the  _ Seine _ , you can stay awake.” Aramis chided him softly, but not angry.

 

“I am … sooo …”

 

“Shhh …” Porthos stroked through Athos’ wet hair. “What’s done is done, focus on staying awake, listen to what Aramis is telling you. He knows what’s best for you right now. The doctor is on his way to the garrison and we soon will be too.” Porthos shortly pressed Athos’ shoulder, patted d’Artagnan’s then, he stood up. 

 

“D’Artagnan talk to him and make him stay awake!” Aramis ordered. “You both need to stay awake.”

 

        While Porthos had talked to Athos, Aramis had taken a better look at the bloody wound. What he saw made his blood freeze. Porthos could see the horrified look in Aramis’ eyes.

 

_ “What?”  _ He asked with his eyes. 

 

        Aramis removed the cloth a second time and Porthos could see clearly the damaged skin. That wasn’t a wound caused by a stone, that was a wound caused by a knife.

 

_ “How? Who?”  _ He asked irritated with his eyes to Aramis, but the medic only shrugged.

 

“Stop … that!” Athos weakly said, his voice barely audible.

 

“What?” Aramis asked.

 

“You know … what! Tell me … what’s … wrong.” Athos slurred.

 

        Porthos stood up. 

 

“Make yourself as comfortable as possible, I will take us home now!” 

 

        With these words he left his three brothers. He was about to climb onto the coachman’s seat when he spotted d’Artagnan’s and Athos’ weapons, which were still guarded by a big man. He briefly looked at him not knowing what to say or do, but the giant bent and retrieved the weapons to hand them to Porthos. His brothers would be thankful. 

 

“Brave boy, tha’ one.” The man said pointing at d’Artagnan. “Take care of ‘hem both.”

 

“Thank you, thank you very much.” Porthos told him shaking hands with his twin.

 

        He then climbed onto the seat, putting the weapons next to him and, with a whistle, gave the horses the sign to carry them back to the garrison. In the meantime Aramis said to Athos.

 

“You have a nasty wound on your back, it looks like someone has knifed you. Any idea who that was?” 

 

        Athos went silent. He heard and felt his heart beating faster, as he tried to remember. He was confused. Was the man still there? He blinked several times.

 

“Athos?” Aramis asked softly. “Do you remember who attacked you?”

 

“What …?” Athos slurred. “... mis … I … can’t …” Athos groggily let his head drop. 

 

_ Why am I wet? … Why does my back hurts? … Aramis, what has happened? Why can’t I remember? Why …  _

 

        Athos felt tears running down his cheeks. He was glad that Aramis and d’Artagnan couldn’t see them. He pressed his face harder in the stinky but soft blanket and tried to regulate his breathing again, his hands clenched on the rough fabric. Another shiver ran through his whole body.

 

_ I am so cold … so very cold … this is a nightmare … this must be a nightmare. I have been at the palace and then Anne … no the other Anne … the Queen … She told me something, but what … why have I left … why can’t I recall it? _

 

        Athos felt Aramis’ left hand on his shoulder, while d’Artagnan tried to ask him one question after another, with chattering teeth, but he didn’t listen.

 

“Rest my friend, it’s alright, you will be fine again.” Aramis had noticed Athos’ silent crying. 

 

        D’Artagnan had felt the change in Athos’ breathing under the palm of his hand which was now laid flat between his friend’s shoulder blades, his thumb resuming his soft movement in an attempt to calm them both. It wasn’t only cold induced tremors now, but something else. He looked up to lock eyes with Aramis, the latter nodded, a bitter expression on his mouth.

 

        D’Artagnan ran small circles on the cold back and, inching a little more towards his friend’s neck, he whispered in the wet curls:

 

“Shhh … You will be alright … Athos, look at me, please …”  

 

Athos just shook his head, refusing to let the young man see his grief. 

 

“Athos, don’t you think I know what you are experiencing? Look at me, please, there is no shame in grieving and suffering … Please.”

 

        Athos couldn’t ignore the pleading tone. He wiped his eyes with his left hand and slowly turned his head, hissing when it reignited the pain in his back. Their foreheads almost touching, d’Artagnan moved back a little to give him space, but as soon as he saw the hint of trust behind the despair in those teary green eyes, he laid his head again next to his friend’s. Sliding his arms from under the blanket he just put his hand on the trembling white fingers and smiled, a soft and reassuring smile. Athos closed his eyes and linked their fingers together, squeezing weakly.

 

“Rest, try to stay awake, but rest.”

 

        Athos winced as the cart hit a protruding cobble, then he sighed and tried to breathe in deeply. Without asking him any further questions Aramis and d’Artagnan simply tried to comfort him for the rest of their unpleasant journey. Aramis untied the blue scarf he was wearing around his hip, then again lifting the blanket, he wrapped it as a bandage around Athos’ lower back and securely tied it trying not to jostle his friend. With a knot he fixed it so that the other cloth that was still pressing on the wound could stop the bleeding for a while. It  needed stitches. Athos and d’Artagnan had no chance to fall asleep. The wagon bumped over too many stones. The ground was too uneven, the small roads of Paris too poorly paved. Every single bump drove through Athos’ aching body and he softly whined. 

 

“Hold on Athos! We are nearly there! Hold on!” 

 

        Aramis encouraged him, his right palm resting protectively on Athos’ back, praying that they could soon treat the wound and hypothermia at the garrison.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Tréville had been lucky to find Lemay still busy in the room with the dead nobleman. He explained to him that his help was needed immediately and urged him to fetch his medical kit. On their way to his office Lemay asked Tréville several questions.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I don’t know for sure. Porthos said he fell into the  _ Seine _ .”

 

“How long was he in the cold water?”

 

“I cannot say, all I know is that they are bringing him on the wagon to the garrison.”

 

“This devilish poison, it can cause people to become mad. I assume he had a setback, that the heat in the throne room was too much for him and that his still confused mind told him to seek cold water.” Lemay supposed while he was now running next to Tréville.

 

“I don’t know, Doctor, all I know is that he was on the mend. He wasn’t confused anymore, otherwise I would have never allowed him to accompany us today.” He answered.

 

“We will see. I really hope for his own sanity that he hasn’t tried to kill himself. It will be important for him to have the will to live. If he stayed too long in the cold water he can …” Lemay stopped as he saw Tréville’s angry glare.

 

        Now Tréville was waiting in the courtyard impatiently, walking from one corner to the other and trying to calm himself. He had sent Jacques, the stable boy, with doctor Lemay to the infirmary as they found out that their patient hadn’t yet arrived. Lemay had made the proposal, sensing that the Captain needed to be alone. Every word he said was too much, every guess was unwelcome and unhelpful.

 

“I will prepare everything to help the poor Lieutenant so that we can start with the warming up as soon as possible and I will fetch a stretcher.” He had stated. 

 

        Tréville had only listened with one ear.

 

_ Please, let him live, let him survive. _

_ I don’t know what drove you to leave? _

_ Maybe someone followed you? _

_ Maybe you have found out who did this to you? _

_ I failed you! I couldn’t protect you! _

_ I should have known that we were stepping into a trap. _

 

        Tréville heard the squeaking wheels of the old wagon and Porthos’ loud voice hurrying the horses. Several seconds later the _ Inséparables _ passed with the wagon through the gate of the garrison. Lemay had appeared next to him, Jacques was holding the stretcher. Porthos stopped the wagon in front of them.

 

        Tréville could hear the loud moaning before he could see his second-in-command. He was lying next to the young Gascon, wrapped in a filthy blanket and a blue Musketeer cape. He couldn’t see his whole face, because he lay on his stomach, his face was turned towards d’Artagnan, his eyes were closed. Aramis was kneeling next to him. Another loud moan escaped the Lieutenant’s mouth. Lemay moved nearer to the wagon, then he climbed onto it and started to check his patient, while d’Artagnan moved to give him space for his short examination.

 

“What happened?” He spoke directly to Aramis.

 

“He was knifed in his lower back, left side and afterwards pushed into the  _ Seine _ .” Aramis told him with anger in his voice. 

 

        Tréville gasped for air.

 

“I don’t know how deep the wound is, if it is infected or if the knife has hurt his kidney? But he is in agony, and he has lost a large amount of blood.” Aramis explained. 

 

        Athos didn’t say a word, he just listened to Aramis’ voice which seemed to be far away. Now that the wagon had stopped he felt the immense wish to sleep, to let darkness come, to make the pain go away.

 

“Alright, I will check his wound in your infirmary. Boy, bring the stretcher.” Lemay ordered Jacques.

 

        Porthos turned around.

 

“I can carry him!” The big Musketeer already wanted to stand up.

 

“I’m sure that you are capable of carrying him, but with this knife wound in his back it is safer, if we put him flat on his stomach on the stretcher. This way we can make sure that the wound doesn’t get more irritated.” Lemay gave Jacques a sign.

 

“But I will need your help to carry him on the stretcher.” Lemay bend down over Athos.

 

“Athos, can you hear me? Can you tell me where you are hurt?”

 

        Athos moaned again, but he didn’t answer him.

 

“He said that only his back was hurting, but he is a master of denial, when it comes to injuries and his own health.” Aramis cautiously explained.

 

“How long has he been in the water?” Lemay wanted to know while Porthos and Aramis readied themselves to put Athos on the stretcher.

 

“Maybe … about five … minutes …” D’Artagnan shivered. “He was .... under, I had to pull ... him up and it took us a while to reach solid ground.”

 

        Tréville stepped nearer.

 

“Let’s not waste anymore time, doctor, we need to take him inside. Aramis, Porthos, take his right and left arm, and stabilise his head. D’Artagnan, do you think you can take his left leg?” Tréville looked at the freezing young Gascon.

 

“Yes …” The young Gascon said still shivering slightly.

 

“Alright! I will take his right leg. As soon as we have him on the stretcher we will carry him inside on my signal!” Tréville ordered. 

 

        So they started, as gently as they could, they lifted Athos’ weak body and put him on the stretcher. Athos hadn’t stopped whimpering. Now he was lying, shivering on the stretcher. He felt himself being lifted, felt the hands of his comrades on his body. He could hear Tréville’s orders. Suddenly he felt ashamed, so ashamed! He had neglected his duty, he had neglected a direct order by his Captain. He wasn’t sure which order, but he knew he had. He wanted to escape. Tréville who sensed the sudden change in Athos’ body, softly grabbed his right hand, which dangled from the stretcher.

 

“Easy, my son! Easy, no need to worry now, everything is alright.” Tréville could hear Athos’ shallow breathing, his body started to tremble even more, and he could hear Athos’ low voice.

 

“I am soo …”

 

        Tréville changed position with Aramis who had sensed that Athos needed the support of their Captain now.

 

“It was a trap, my son. Whoever is behind this, has tricked us, me ..., you ...” He whispered in Athos’ ear, bending down.

 

        Athos let his head loll on the right side, he forced himself to open his eyes, to see Tréville’s face. For a short moment they locked their eyes with each other. Tréville could see Athos much too pale face, the reddish swollen eyes, filled with tears. He forced himself to smile at his Lieutenant, a supportive smile that should tell him that everything was under control and fine. 

 

_ But nothing is alright. The madness still continues. _ Tréville thought bitterly.

 

        He noticed that Athos took another deep breath and a further shudder ran through his spine.

 

“I mmm ... sooo … cold ...” Athos slurred before his body went completely limp.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	40. Laudors a Diu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are back! When two authors meet in real life they don't have enough time for their readers. Sorry about that. ;-)  
> ♥♥♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For personal reasons we won't put the links on the Musketeers fb group anymore, but we are sure those of you who like our story will find the chapters nevertheless. ♥♥♥ Kira and Emma

⚔⚔

  


**_Earlier at the palace_ **

 

         It had taken Milady half an hour to free herself. When she finally opened the door, a few pages looked at her with surprise as she stormed down the corridor back to her room.

 

_The Duke of Savoy will pay for this. Maybe he is behind all this and not the Irish soldier? I have to find out more about him. I have to search his quarters and I have to follow him._

 

        As she turned around another corner, she saw Red Guards and Musketeers opening doors, searching rooms and talking in an agitated way to each other. Something was wrong, she needed to know what.

 

“Excuse me, Musketeer!” She asked Henri, who had just entered the palace again after Tréville had hurried away with the doctor. “What is going on?”

 

“Don’t worry, madame! This is our usual precaution to secure the summit of his Majesty.” He explained to her with a slight bow.

 

        Then he excused himself and hurried away. Milady knew precisely that he was lying to her. She decided to follow him and she could eavesdrop as he told another Musketeer that he had heard that Athos had fallen into the Seine and that they were bringing him back to the garrison. Tréville had just left with the doctor to check on him.

 

_My goodness Athos! How have you ended up in the river? You aren’t spared anything?_

 

        She turned around, hoping that he would be alright. After listening to some other Red Guards talking to each other she found out that the nobleman who had collapsed earlier was dead and that they were searching the palace for O’Sullivan as a possible suspect.

 

_It becomes more interesting from one hour to the next. I will change my clothes and then I will try to find out why the Duke has left the summit. Then I can figure out if O’Sullivan is really responsible for Athos’ poisoning or if it was the Duke._

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  


        D’Artagnan had reluctantly obeyed his Captain’s orders to warm his still too cold body. The last few days of sunny weather had definitely not been enough to warm the Seine. Now, he felt almost numb and it was a delicious feeling after being in these filthy streams. He had tried to be as fast as he could to bathe and dress in clean and warm clothes. It could have been a long process but a tub had already been filled by a Musketeer who needed a bath after fixing the stables roof and before heading to the palace to stand guard.

   

        Seeing d’Artagnan’s state, the good man had offered him  his place in the bathroom. Barely ten minutes had passed before d’Artagnan grudgingly left the warm place and the soothing caress of the water, but he needed to see his brother as soon as possible. He couldn’t keep his mind from reliving Athos’ dreadful dive into the river and the discovery of the blood. So d’Artagnan had vigorously rubbed his body until he became almost scarlet, had hopped into fresh underpants and trousers, pulled on a clean white shirt and wrapped himself in a woollen cloak.  

 

        Now, he was standing at the infirmary’s door, trepidation keeping him from entering the room. Through the rough wood, he could hear nervous voices and Athos’ whimperings. He gingerly opened the door. Tréville and Porthos were restraining Athos as he fought them violently in spite of his weakness.

 

        After Athos had passed out on the stretcher, Aramis had shared a worried glance with Porthos. Lemay had bent down over Athos’ unmoving body, listening to his breath and heart. “He lives!” He had stated firmly, and he could hear the harsh breathing of the Musketeers. “But his heart is beating very slowly.” He had warned. “We have to stop the bleeding and warm him.” He had urged them to hurry.

 

        Aramis had hoped that his sick brother would remain unconscious, but as they transferred him from the stretcher to a bed. Athos’ body reacted to the immense pain in his back and he woke up moaning in agony. His whole body was still shivering from the cold he had endured.

 

        D’Artagnan could hear Lemay’s voice.

 

“That’s impossible!” The doctor suddenly cried. “I can’t do this with him conscious and wriggling like that.”

 

        Aramis, who had rolled his shirtsleeves and was wiping the blood and dirt from Athos’ back, looked up, his face displaying such a relief that d’Artagnan almost turned around to see who had appeared behind him, but he quickly realised that Aramis was just happy to see him back and fit enough to help them.   

 

“D’Artagnan, are you alright, now?”

 

“Of, course, Aramis. What do you need me to do?” He asked eagerly.

 

“Come here and try to calm him. I don’t know why but it seems that you are the only one able to reach his stubborn mind and make him stop fighting.”

 

“I can do it too.” Porthos grumbled, while hoping that he didn’t have to do it again. “But not in the same way…” He added ruefully.

 

“Porthos, I don’t think it would be a good idea in his state.” Lemay stated.

 

“It never stopped him with me.” Porthos mumbled hiding his sorrow behind his bad temper.

 

        D’Artagnan approached the bed where Athos had been laid because a table was definitely too cold and uncomfortable for the already abused body, and it was just sewing not surgery. The young man knelt on the floor and slung an arm around Athos’ shoulders.

 

_My God you are still so cold._

 

        A clean blanket covered the upper half of the man’s back but the young man could feel both the cold and the continuous tremors through the thick fabric. He threw another anxious look at Aramis who nodded. So d’Artagnan resumed the position he had in the cart. He laid his cheek on the pillow, his face very close to Athos’ white face.

 

“Don’t fight Athos, please, let them heal you. I know it’s painful but it will be over very soon.”

 

        Athos’ eyes staring at him were so empty that the young man shivered in spite of the heat in the room.

 

“Athos, do you hear me?” He tried again.

 

“I ... do.” Athos whispered as a lonely tear rolled down his nose and fell onto the pillow.

 

“Close your eyes … shhh … Do you want me to tell you that poem … Do you remember? …”

 

        As he continued his soft murmuring, running a thumb back and forth on his friend’s  shoulder, he heard Lemay starting giving orders.

 

“Aramis, wash your hands with alcohol. I read that it seems to work to avoid infections. Captain, Porthos, stay where you are, be ready to restrain him if he moves.”

 

        Athos’ eyes didn’t leave the deep brown irises looking at him with such fondness and care. He tried to focus on them and on the rhythmic movement on his shoulder. Once again, the boy was his lifeline and he wanted to hold onto that, but he was in such pain. His mind wandered and he soon lost track of his thoughts, but he never lost the brown eyes, barely daring to blink.

 

_Where am I? Why am I so cold? What’s all the noise? D’Artagnan, you rescued me … from … from the flames … my house … Anne … she tried to kill me …_

_Why am I so cold, right the water … to ease my burning skin … to save me from the flames …_

_Are we safe? I … I can’t remember… Who is with me … why is there shouting …_

_What did the boy say? He is talking to me? I hear voices, anxious voices, a voice filled with anger._

 

        D’Artagnan, without stopping his continuous stream of French and Gascon words, lifted his hand to wipe another tear on his friend’s cheek.

 

_No, not again? It was you, I know it was you. Why are you doing this? I just saved her. You can’t do this again! … But no, wait … Where? … These voices … d’Artagnan? … He saved me … My God … Where am I? … The fire … He saved me from the fire … She … Please, don’t hurt me … Why are you hurting me? … Please … Make it stop …_

 

“I don’t like the look of it. Aramis, please, look at the edges of the cut. They are already red and swollen and here, there is a small blister. The filthy water didn’t help. I fear it’s already infected.” Lemay said.

 

        D’Artagnan moved his hand from Athos’ shoulder to his ear, blocking the sounds, and glared at Lemay. Aramis coughed trying to cover the doctor’s voice. Understanding, Lemay continued.

 

“Now, I will have to clean the wound with boiled water mixed with alcohol.” Lemay explained and added in a lower voice. “I will open the small blister. He has been stabbed more than half an hour ago, but I can stitch it anyway. The earlier it’s done, the better it is, but we have to work quickly.”

 

        He finished, preparing his tools and other items. Porthos shuddered, Tréville looked at the ceiling breathing in deeply and d’Artagnan closed his eyes, sliding his hand under the blanket to curl it around Athos’ neck. Of course, they had all seen nasty wounds, they had all seen these big terrifying needles, they had all been stitched and they had all suffered more or less serious injuries, but it seemed so unfair … Athos had barely began to feel better … He didn’t need a new ordeal.

 

“May I ask why you don’t use pure alcohol?” Aramis said trying to stay calm by asking for professional advice.

 

“Because I noticed that alcohol tends to irritate the damaged flesh and slows the scarring.”

 

“And … if … it is already infected …” Porthos murmured anxiously.

 

“There are other solutions.” Lemay answered as he gently wiped the skin around the cut.

 

“Which are?” Tréville asked.

 

        He had seen so many deaths because of infected injuries.

 

“I don’t know … if … it … is the right moment.” Lemay hesitated.

 

        D’Artagnan felt Athos moving under his hand.

 

_The infirmary … I remember now … My friends are here … The Captain too … Am I dying? … I just fell into the water … I remember now … The pain … The figure in black … Doctor Lemay … he doesn’t want to … I need to know ..._

 

“Tell … us.” Athos’ voice startled them all.

 

        D’Artagnan laid his head again on the pillow to lock eyes with his friend.

 

“Shhh … Athos …” D’Artagnan whispered. “Try to stay calm, let Doctor Lemay work. He knows how to heal you.”

 

“Tell us.” Athos repeated, the noble commanding intonation audible in the raspy exhausted voice.

 

“Well …” Lemay tried. “We can use bloodletting to drain the bad humors from his body.”

 

“No way.” Porthos almost barked.

 

“Of course, Porthos. He has already lost enough blood. I saw maggots do good work in cases like that.”

 

“Ma … maggots?” Aramis asked baffled.

 

        Athos moaned.

 

“Yes, they feed themselves off of the pus and black blood.”

 

“My God …” Athos murmured along with d’Artagnan.

 

“Don’t worry Athos, for now, cleaning and stitching will be enough. Then a poultice of honey mixed with garlic and castor oil. It was used in Ancient Egypt to cure infections and damaged skins.” He paused, then he added. “Now, Athos, I warn you, first it will sting, then it will hurt a lot, so try to stay calm and let go if you feel you need to lose consciousness.”

 

        Porthos snorted.

 

_Athos letting go! Poor Doctor, he doesn't know him very well._

 

“We could use something to make him sl …” Aramis tried.

 

“Just … do … it.” Athos groaned.  

 

        So they did. At the beginning, Athos stayed rather stoical, only whimpering or moaning intermittently. D’Artagnan had tightened his grip on his nape and had brought their foreheads together. During the whole process, he didn’t stop his litany. It was a blessing for the other men too. The hushed deep voice was like a balm over their stressed nerves.

 

_“Devath ma frièsta_

_I a un auser on_

_Tota la nuit canta_

_Canta sa cançon.”_  [1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/27147759/preview#chapter_40_endnotes)

 

        D’Artagnan was surprised to see how the words were coming back easily. He still could hear his mother’s voice. He took comfort in it and tried to transfer this comfort to all his friends.

        As Lemay opened the small yellowish blister, Athos suddenly screamed and closed his eyes. His young friend squeezed his own eyes shut to force his tears back and tightened his grip on his friend’s neck in an almost painful way.

 

“Shhh … Let go, please, let go Athos!” He pleaded shakingly.

 

“No … mmmh … I …” Athos moaned.

 

“Don’t be scared. Please, it’s useless to suffer like that …” D’Artagnan murmured in his ear.

 

“Athos, he is right, let go my friend.” Aramis had stood up and knelt beside d’Artagnan, a hand on his friend’s back, the other squeezing the young man’s shoulder.

 

_How can I tell them? How can I tell them that I am scared. I am a coward who is scared not to wake up, if I let the darkness engulf me … Please, d’Artagnan, talk to me … I need your voice … I need to focus on something …_

 

“D’Arta … words … plea … ssse.” He managed to say, opening his eyes to look into the velvety brown teary irises.

 

_“Laudors a Diu qui mon ròc estar denha_

_E qui mas mans a las armas ensenha_

_E qui mos dits a la batalha aprén!_

_Sa gran bontat urós sus tots me ren,_

_Eth es ma guarda, eth es ma fortalessa,_

_Ma deliurança e ma rondèla espessa.”_ [ _2_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/27147759/preview#chapter_40_endnotes)

 

        Aramis stood up again ready to help Lemay, giving him fresh clothes soaked in his mixture of warm boiled water and alcohol and preparing another bowl of the same concoction. When Lemay pulled on the edges of the wound to clean it more thoroughly, Athos struggled to escape the agonising pain. Porthos and Tréville tightened their grip on his legs and Aramis tried to seize his arms.

 

“Stop fighting, Athos, please …” He almost cried.

 

“I would prefer him unconscious. He has incredible stamina. He is just exhausting himself … d’Artagnan … try to calm him …”

 

“Can’t all of this be more quick?” The young man asked, his weak and pleading voice almost covered by Athos’ loud moanings.

 

“I don’t want infection to settle, it could kill him. The cut isn’t lethal, but infection is. He is very lucky that the knife didn’t hit his kidney, so don’t give up now, all of you.” Lemay ordered feeling how desperate the men were.

 

        Athos screamed again and if the sound wasn’t as loud as before, his strength decreasing, it was now charged with such pain and sorrow that it sounded like a wounded animal howl.

 

_Let me go … Let me go … Let me join unconsciousness ... I am so cold … so tired … please … it hurts … Why are you torturing me? I want to make it stop … The pain … everything ... Why do I have to suffer? Anne did you do this to me? I want to leave … I don’t want to remember ...  Let me forget … Take this pain away from me … ahhh … it hurts ..._

 

        While Lemay ignored it in order to continue his painful work, Athos fought again and d’Artagnan slung an arm around his shoulders, seized his hand and buried his face in the man’s sweaty curls spread over the pillow. This way he could restrain and comfort Athos and himself too. Suddenly, everything stopped. The four Musketeers felt how Athos’ body went limp under their hands.

 

“Athos?” D’Artagnan whispered lifting his head. “Athos?”

 

        Panic was audible in his voice. Lemay and Aramis reached for Athos’ neck at the same time but Lemay let Aramis put his trembling fingers where he hoped that life was still pulsing. Four pairs of eyes looked at him with such fear and hope that he felt his fingers shaking even more and didn’t find the faint proof he was searching for. At last he closed his eyes and slumped, exhaling a relieved shaky breath, his forehead against Athos’ back.

 

 _“Dieu soit loué_ … He is just unconscious ...”

 

        Aramis could feel the very slow beating of Athos’ heart and it scared him, but at least his brother was still alive. D’Artagnan stood up abruptly, knocking the bowl off the table. He clapped his hand on his mouth and rushed towards the door. Porthos left Athos’ side, went after him and stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey, what’s the matter? Are you sick?”

 

        The young man, breathing heavily through his nose, shook his head. He tried to dislodge Porthos’ hand, but the man tightened his grip and led him towards the other side of the room. He made him sit on a spare bed.

 

“Hey, brother, he will be fine. He is unconscious and it’s a good thing. Now he hasn’t to endure the sharp pain while his wound is stitched.” Porthos tried to calm him, a hand on the young man’s neck.

 

“It’s just … I … thought … I … thought he … I am sorry …”

 

“Don’t be sorry … We all thought the same. Now stay here and rest. You did very well, breathe slowly and deeply through your mouth, one unconscious man is enough.”

 

        They stayed like that for a moment. Aramis and Lemay had resumed their work.

 

“Aramis, do you want to close the wound?” Lemay asked.

 

        Aramis hesitated and then:

 

“I know it’s silly, Doctor, but yes please.”

   

        D’Artagnan tried to get up again but Porthos’ hand was heavy on his nape.

 

“Stay here for now and stay calm young man.”

 

“But, Porthos, he …”

 

“... is unconscious, so he doesn’t need you, but I have a very good idea. When they are done with him, we will move this bed next to his and you will be able to hold your big brother’s hand the whole night.” Porthos smiled.

 

“Porthos, stop teasing me.” D’Artagnan mumbled.

 

        Porthos slapped his thigh and smiled.

 

“You are right, I am teasing you, but I understand what you are feeling, I understand very well.” His bright smile was such a balm to the young man’s sorrow.

 

        On the other side of the room, Aramis clenched and unclenched his fists, making his knuckles creak like dry branches. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve before plunging his hands in the very hot water Lemay passed him. The doctor had prepared all the necessary items, thread, needle, scissors, poultice and bandage. The smell emanating from the strange mixture made Aramis feel nauseous but he concentrated on his task. He gently wiped Athos’ skin again, then he breathed and began to insert the needle into the red skin. The feeling made him shiver. It wasn’t the first time, far from it, that he had to stitch someone, but the last few days had been so physically and psychologically taxing that he didn’t trust his fingers as he usually did, and having to draw one more painful line on this back, where the dreadful memories from six years before were already written, was deeply upsetting.

 

“Aramis, do you want me to do it?” Lemay asked gently.

 

        Aramis looked up as if Lemay had woken him up. The soft smile he saw on the doctor’s thin face, and the understanding look in his dark eyes calmed him.

 

“I am fine. I will do it.”

 

        He continued to carefully push and pull the needle, Lemay progressively wiping the blood with his usual mixture of water and alcohol. Aramis was careful to make small and regular stitches. Even if Athos wouldn’t be able to see it where it was situated, he wanted the scar to be as invisible as possible. Athos didn’t need this new bad memory to be written in big letters on his skin.

 

“You did well, Aramis. You are very good. Now, let me apply the poultice and then we will bandage him. I hope he won’t wake up.”

 

        While Aramis was stitchting Athos, Tréville moved next to Athos’ head. With concern in his gaze and fighting his own tears at seeing his Lieutenant in so much pain and distress, he put his left palm on Athos’ right shoulder. He wasn’t sure if Athos could feel his presence, but he needed to do something. He needed to show him that he wasn’t alone. That was the least he could do. From time to time his sharp blue eyes looked at Aramis working on closing the nasty wound. Aramis realised that his Captain was staring at him and when he looked up, he could see his encouraging smile telling him that he did well.

 

        When the Doctor and Aramis finished bandaging Athos, manhandling him with difficulty, they heard a twin sigh from the other side of the room. Aramis turned towards Porthos and d’Artagnan and smiled at them, a wavering sad smile. D’Artagnan shivered and Porthos could feel the vibrations where their shoulders touched.

 

“Hey, are you cold? Or sick?” He asked turning a concerned look on his young friend.

 

“No, just … seeing him like that … he must be so cold …”

 

“You are right, d’Artagnan.” Lemay said realising that the bandage and one blanket weren’t enough to fight the cold after the surgery and the blood loss. “Could you fetch a shirt and warm it in front of the fire?”

 

        He had barely finished his sentence when the young man fled from the room.

 

“Porthos, warm your hands if they are cold, you can  help us. He mustn’t lie on his back so it will be difficult to put on his shirt as he is heavy.” Aramis smiled. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

 

        They heard running footsteps outside and a breathless d’Artagnan entered the room carrying a shirt and the now dry blue scarf they had left on the wagon. He rushed to the hearth and spread the shirt on the back of a chair.

 

“Now, how will we do this?” Porthos asked.

 

“We will roll him onto his uninjured side. Porthos you lift his upper body as carefully you can. Doctor, you stand behind him to keep him from rolling onto his back, and Captain you do the same at his front”, Aramis explained, looking at Tréville and showing his still bloody hands as an explanation.

 

“And I will … ?” D’Artagnan muttered.

 

“You will warm your hands and be in charge of dressing him … for once.” Aramis smiled to ease the young man’s awkwardness. “Don’t look at me like that. You have already undressed him enough times, now it’s time to dress him.”

 

“Ha! Ha! Funny.” D’Artagnan grumbled under his breath with a childish pout.

 

        It wasn’t an easy task but they managed to do it without waking their patient. Just when d’Artagnan pushed his left arm into the sleeve, Athos winced and whimpered, but he didn’t open his eyes. He was slowly regaining consciousness, but it was only to fall into a deeper sleep. D’Artagnan finished by tenderly fastening the blue warm scarf around his mentor’s neck. For a moment the young Gascon rested his hand on the scarf, feeling Athos’ heartbeat pulsing regularly underneath it, a good sign. Then they all settled around Athos to patiently wait for him to show the first signs of consciousness.

        Aramis clenched his jaw. Seeing his friend so unresponsive made him feel anxious. It had indeed been better for him to be unconscious during the stitching, but now, Aramis longed to see the blue green irises, even if it was to receive Athos’ famous glare or the teasing look he sometimes threw at him. He would even welcome the angry and nearly murderous look he had sometimes experienced in the past months.

        He suddenly felt so tense. He nervously clenched his fists to hide the tremors in his fingers and tried to breathe in deeply, but he only managed a few shallow breaths. He could feel Porthos’ eyes on him, but he couldn’t look at him. His skin suddenly felt too small for his body, panic was slowly making its way through his limbs and mind.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1- Devath ma frièsta  
> I a un auser on  
> Tota la nuit canta  
> Canta sa cançon
> 
> Sous ma fenêtre  
> Il y a un petit oiseau  
> Qui toute la nuit chante  
> Chante sa chanson
> 
> Under my window  
> There is a little bird  
> The whole night it sings  
> Sings its song.
> 
> Old Gascon song
> 
> 2- Laudors a Diu qui mon ròc estar denha  
> E qui mas mans a las armas ensenha  
> E qui mos dits a la batalha aprén!  
> Sa gran bontat urós sus tots me ren,  
> Eth es ma guarda, eth es ma fortalessa,  
> Ma deliurança e ma rondèla espessa,
> 
> Louanges à Dieu qui daigne être mon rocher  
> Et qui enseigne mes mains au maniement des armes,  
> Et exerce mes doigts à la bataille!  
> Sa grande bonté me rend plus heureux que tous,  
> Il est ma garde, il est ma forteresse,  
> Ma délivrance et mon fort bouclier;
> 
> Praise be to God who deigns to be my rock  
> And who teaches my hands to use arms,  
> And exercise my fingers for the battle!  
> His great kindness makes me happier than everyone,  
> He is my guard, he is my fortress,  
> My deliverance and my strong shield;
> 
> Arnault de Salette, Gascon poet (1540-1594)


	41. He will need you, Aramis!

        He needed fresh air, otherwise he feared that he would collapse on the wooden floor next to Athos’ bed. With a desperate glance, he looked down at his finally sleeping brother, then at Porthos, who had seated himself on the right side of Athos, next to his head, holding his cold hand and trying to warm it. On the other side d’Artagnan was lying on the bed they had placed near Athos’, his palm on Athos’ shoulder. Without exchanging words, Porthos gave Aramis a sign that he would stay at their brother’s side. Lemay was explaining something, regarding Athos’ further treatment, but Aramis didn’t listen, couldn’t listen, he felt like suffocating. He was dizzy and exhausted, so, without a word, he left. 

        Outside in the courtyard the heat of the sun burned his face. He rested his hands on their favourite table and breathed in deeply. Then he felt the urgent need to sit down. Like a stone, he collapsed on the wooden seat. Slowly, very slowly, he registered noises around him, the tweeting of the birds, the neighing of the horses which were still harnessed in front of their shabby wagon. 

        Aramis tried to stand up, he wanted to tend to them, but his knees started to shake so he sank back down on the bench. He realised that not only his legs were shaking, but his hands too. His hands which had to hold still while sewing the wound on Athos’ back. He stared at them, spread on the rough wood, they were still bloody. His brother’s blood stuck on them, between his fingers, under his nails, in the lines on his knuckles. He turned them palms upwards. Some blood embedded in the lines had drawn a strange map.  _ Line of life. _ Aramis snorted at the thought of this eerie symbol. As he silently looked at them, he realised that his shirt was covered with speckles of blood too.

 

_ I have to clean myself. The well is not far away. I should go over and … no it can wait. _

The screams of agony of his hurt brother were still ringing in his ears . He had hoped to never hear him in such a distress again but this wound was different. Seeing Athos being poisoned had been hard enough, but this bloody wound had roused bad memories: Athos, six years ago, lying on a wooden table in the very same infirmary, after he had been brutally whipped.

 

        As back then, they had had to lay Athos on his stomach.

        As back then, it had been him treating the bleeding wounds.

        As back then, Athos had moaned in agony and screamed.

 

_ Who hates you so much that he wants to see you suffer in pain, to see you dead?  _ Aramis angrily thought.

 

        He needed to do something, he was angry, upset, ready to kill someone. Earlier he had grabbed Athos by his shirt collar, he had shouted angrily, he had surely hurt him furthermore, but Athos hadn’t told him, hadn’t blamed him. He had simply asked for his support. Angrily, the medic blinked his tears away, he felt a warm hand on his back and then softly spoken words.

 

“I know seeing him like this is hard, but you are there for him. You probably just saved his life, so stop blaming yourself.” Tréville said in a gentle voice. 

 

        Then he seated himself next to his medic, leaving his hand on Aramis’ shoulder.

 

“He will need you, Aramis!”

 

“I know.” Aramis answered in a low voice.

 

“Can you tell me what happened? Tréville asked him.

 

“I am wondering the very same thing. All I know is that Athos spoke to the Queen and that he left the palace afterwards. But why didn’t he wait for us, for d’Artagnan? I don’t know?”

 

“I will ask d’Artagnan, but right now he is busy comforting our patient.” Tréville said. 

 

“And I don’t want to disturb him, it has to wait. All I know is that Athos met O’Sullivan on his way out. Henri told me.”

 

“Did they speak to each other.” Tréville asked.

 

“If they did, it wasn’t for long. Athos then went down to the Seine. Why? I don’t know. Maybe he needed fresh air, maybe the poison still tricked his mind, maybe he wanted to find out something. Or he simply wanted to return to the garrison as he had promised us. We need to ask him, later …”

 

“At the river he was knifed by a stranger and tumbled down into the water. D’Artagnan was just in time to get him out, otherwise …”

 

“Our young Gascon is a true hero.” Tréville smiled fondly. “Did Athos say anything? Could he identify his attacker?”

 

“He was very confused when we reached him. I think he still thought that …” Aramis paused.

 

“What?”

 

“That someone was still watching him … If it was O’Sullivan, if you say that they talked in front of the palace, maybe he followed him …” Aramis jumped to his feet. “I have to find him, I have to question him.” 

 

        Without further explanation, Aramis ran back into the infirmary, grabbed his weapons, looking for a short moment at his still sleeping friend and then he hurried out again and left the garrison.

 

“Where are you going?” Tréville tried to stop Aramis, but his medic was already at the gate.

 

“It is time to stop this.” With these words, he left an astonished Tréville behind.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ What is the medic doing at the palace …? I thought he would stay with his injured friend Athos. Does this mean I didn’t fail? Does this mean I hit Athos’ kidney? _

_ Maybe the doctor was too late and couldn’t rescue the lost soul? Ha … ha … ha … _

_ But I need to be careful … this medic could have seen me earlier … I have to follow him, maybe I will have the chance to get rid of him too ... _

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Of course it was foolish to search for O’Sullivan on his own. He wasn’t any better than Athos, he was driven by his emotions, but Aramis needed to do something. He couldn’t stand seeing his brother suffering that much. Whoever had attacked Athos for the second time, needed to be stopped, and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that O’Sullivan had something to do with his brother’s suffering. He wasn’t sure he was the perpetrator, but he was sure that he had  something to do with the whole plot.

 

        Sweat soaked his hair and collar as he walked. He impatiently opened the first buttons of his jacket and the collar of his shirt. He took a white embroidered handkerchief, gift from a former lover, and tried to wipe his wet neck.  _ Damn heat! _ He ran, without knowing where, just driven by his anger and his desire to find answers and … if necessary, to kill somebody.

 

_ Where shall I start? Where can I find this charlatan? _

  
  


        Tréville had said that he was informed by Henri, so Aramis decided to start at the palace. It took him longer than usual, because he had to go by foot. His horse was still waiting for him in one of the palace’s stables. On his way to  _ le Louvre _ Aramis stopped at a well and cleaned his hands. He must look horrible, but he had no time to rearrange his hair or change his shirt, he had even left his hat in the infirmary on an empty bed.

 

        Aramis was lucky because he found Henri in the stables. The experienced Musketeer looked at Aramis.

 

“What happened to you … is Athos … is he alright?” He asked concerned seeing the blood on Aramis’ shirt.

 

“He was attacked and knifed. Right now we can only hope and pray that his wound doesn’t get infected. Doctor Lemay helped us to treat him.”

 

        Henri was taken aback. He and the other Musketeers had worried for Athos over the last few days. They had figured out very soon that he had been poisoned. He valued the silent Lieutenant very much.

 

“If I can help in any …” Henri looked at the hat in his hands and tried to evade Aramis’ exhausted eyes.

 

“You can help me indeed. Has O’Sullivan been arrested yet?” Aramis asked him.

 

“I am sorry, he left the palace and hasn’t been seen since, but we will when or if he comes back. It’s a direct order of Captain Tréville and the Red Guards promised to help us.”

 

“Thank you Henri! The Captain mentioned that Athos talked with O’Sullivan as he left the palace. Could you hear them talking?”

 

“No, I haven’t seen them, but Hubert told me he had the information from one of the Red Guards.”

 

_ Great, now I have to find Hubert and then he has to tell me the name of the Red Guard. _

 

“Has Hubert told you the name of the Red Guard?”

 

“Let me see, oh yes, it was Dubois.”

 

“Any idea where Dubois is now?” Aramis’ hand went to his head. He drove it through his dark hair. 

 

_ Where is my hat? Oh, I must have forgotten it in the infirmary. _

 

“Yes, Dubois is … wait, there Aramis, he is just leaving, hurry …”

 

        Aramis spotted the corpulent shape of Dubois, his long dark hair was greasy and not combed and on one of his cheeks he had a nasty scar. Aramis hurried after him.

 

“Dubois, wait! I need to talk to you!”

 

        The Red Guard looked suspiciously at Aramis.

 

“What can I do for you, Musketeer?”

 

        Dubois was irritated that they had to help the Musketeers today with palace guard by order from Villefort. Usually he was glad when he had nothing to do with them.

 

“Well, you told Hubert that you saw Athos with O’Sullivan earlier … maybe two, three hours ago.”

 

“Who?” Dubois asked.

 

“This Irish merchant with Athos, our Lieutenant!” Aramis explained trying to not lose his temper. Dubois knew exactly who Athos was.

 

“Oh, you mean that drunk Musketeer who left the palace earlier … I heard that he fell into the  _ Seine _ . You really should watch out better for your brother.” 

 

        Dubois found the whole thought of a drunk Musketeer falling in the  _ Seine _ very funny and he spitefully grinned at Aramis.   

 

        Aramis had had enough. He moved nearer to Dubois until he was able to grab him by his collar. His dark eyes became angry expressing that he was ready to kill without regret in the very next moment. Aramis pushed the dirty man onto the door of the stables next to them, as Henri stepped conciliatory next to Aramis. He put an arm on Aramis’ shoulder, sensing the anger and distress their medic was in.

 

“Aramis, let him go.” He softly told their medic, then a bit louder he stated firmly: “Dubois, just answer his questions. We have to find O’Sullivan, you spoke earlier with Hubert and he  reported what you said to our Captain. This Irish merchant is an urgent threat to our King, if you saw where he went, please tell us without provoking us.” 

 

        Henri’s calm and soft voice helped Aramis to sort himself out and while Dubois was fighting with himself, if he should help those Musketeers or not, Aramis let him go.   Their questioning was disturbed by Villefort who was approaching them.

 

“What’s going on here?” He wanted to know.

 

“We simply want to know in which direction O’Sullivan left. Dubois saw him earlier leaving the palace.”

 

“Dubois, answer them!” Villefort ordered. His voice was strict and filled with anger. “You know that we shall cooperate with the Musketeers today.

 

“Let me think, he went into the garden. But after two minutes he came back and left in the same direction as Athos.”

 

“Would you say that maybe he followed him?” The medic wanted to know.

 

“I’m not sure, d’Artagnan came shortly after him … so, maybe yes.”

 

“Can you show me in which direction O’Sullivan left and can you tell me what he was wearing?”

 

“He left in this direction.” Dubois showed with his right hand the direction where Athos had been attacked several hours ago. “And he wore, yes I am confident, he wore a black leather suit.”

 

        Without thanking him Aramis left Dubois, he nodded to Villefort and Henri and went into the stable, looking for his horse. He needed to think and to calm himself.

 

_ Shall I check O’Sullivan’s room again. No. He won’t be there, I will give it a try and ask around, maybe a merchant has seen him. He must be somewhere. I have to find him … _

 

        So Aramis saddled his horse and returned to the spot where he had found Athos earlier.   

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        After Tréville had followed Aramis into the courtyard, d’Artagnan looked sadly at his sleeping brother. He didn’t show any signs of waking soon. Doctor Lemay stood next to Athos’ head. Softly he opened Athos’ left eyelid and checked his pupil, then he felt his, afterwards his breathing and his pulse. 

 

“I think our patient will sleep the whole afternoon. He lost a large amount of blood through the wound and his cold body temperature caused by the fall into the  _ Seine _ makes him very tired, considering that his body is still weakened from the poison.”

 

“What can we do, Doctor?” Porthos wanted to know.

 

“Keep him warm. When he wakes give him hot tea to drink. Aramis will know, I explained it to him earlier. If he develops a fever call for me, because this can be the first sign of infection.” Porthos and d’Artagnan looked concerned at the doctor.

 

“The water he fell into was dirty and who knows if the knife with which he was cut was clean. I have tried to clean the wound as best I could but we simply have to wait.” He tried to calm them. “I have to leave now!” With these words he grabbed his bag. “Tell your Captain that I will drop by tonight to have another look at Athos’ wound.”

 

        After Lemay had left, Porthos went over to the chair next to Athos’ head and seated himself beside him. Protectively he stroked with his left hand through Athos now dry hair and then rested his hand on Athos’ left shoulder.    

 

        D’Artagnan could see another shiver running through Athos’ spine. He wanted to lie next to him and warm him again, but then he recognised the bloody linen, the dirty blankets and the blue capes from Aramis and Porthos lying on the floor. He needed to do something and so he started to clean the mess. Porthos didn’t say a word. He saw Athos’ blood sticking to the fabrics.

 

_ No wonder that Aramis needed fresh air, but you asked me not to leave you alone and I won’t do that now. I will stay at your side and watch and wait until you open your green eyes. Fight this Athos. You are strong. I know you. Come back to us … _

 

        Porthos was interrupted in his thoughts as the door opened and the Captain returned.

 

“Where is Aramis?” D’Artagnan wanted to know as he returned from the other side of the room where he had put the soiled fabrics.

 

“He needs some time for himself, but he will be back soon, I am certain.” Tréville forced himself to smile. His glance wandered to his sleeping Lieutenant. 

 

“Has he woken up? I mean after I have left? Has he said anything?”

 

“No. Doctor Lemay thinks that he will sleep most of the afternoon due to the blood loss and his cold body temperature.” Porthos answered quietly. 

 

“I am sorry to bother you both with this, but I need your report. What happened to Athos after he left the palace? I know bits and pieces but who attacked him? D’Artagnan have you seen anyone? Porthos has Athos said anything to you?” Tréville asked. 

 

        He seated himself on an empty chair, while d’Artagnan returned to his bed and sat on it. The few things they knew they told their Captain.

 

“Thus we don’t have a name or a description, but a man has attacked Athos with a knife.” Tréville summarised.

 

“It could have been O’Sullivan or the Duke of Savoy.” Porthos said in a low voice, fearing Athos could wake up. But the injured man was only moaning softly while he continued to sleep.

 

“Or someone we haven’t suspected yet or a hired killer.” D’Artagnan said.

 

        Captain Tréville stood up restlessly. 

 

“Take good care of him. I need to return to the palace and I hope that they have arrested O’Sullivan by now, he is the most likely suspect.” 

 

        He went over to Porthos, bent down over Athos’ ear and mumbled some soft words Porthos could barely here. 

 

“Hold on Athos. I need you. We need you!” 

 

        Then he nodded to his officers and left the infirmary. D’Artagnan who could now feel his cold skin laid down on the bed next to Athos, tucked himself in his blanket and tried to warm himself and Athos a little more. Porthos smiled at the young Gascon he had a funny joke on his lips but he decided to stay quiet.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        The Duke of Savoy had had enough. The whole trade summit, the King celebrating himself and his power, the sword fight with Rochefort, his still swollen lip and then this mysterious woman who had followed him and he finally decided not to participate at the King’s banquet. After wandering through the small streets of Paris, meeting with some Spanish informants he returned to the palace around noon. After a short meal he decided to meet with some merchants who were praising their goods at shabby stands.

 

        This time Milady was prepared. As she watched him leaving, she followed him with much more distance, now wearing a dark green dress and covering her hair with a black hood. Occasionally she stopped at stands, looked interested at goods and she was surprised to see that the Duke of Savoy did the same. He was busy with visiting chandlers who were dealing with plants. He wandered from one stand to the next, talking to the chandlers, looking at and touching the plants.

 

_ What is he doing? Does he want to buy more poisonous plants?  _

 

        All those plants could be found in every garden in France. Most of the plants were blooming in different colours in the King’s gardens too.The Duke left a stall and crossed the street, Milady waited a bit, but when she tried to follow him, she could no longer see him. She had lost him in the crowd again.

 

_ Did he recognise me again? He is a good sword fighter, I didn’t expect that he would win against Rochefort, but he knew some excellent tricks. Then he noticed me following him earlier, maybe he became suspicious. Anyway I will return and I will try to search his quarter’s instead, maybe I will find a hint about his true intentions and why he is in Paris. _

 

        Milady realised that she had walked further away from the palace than she had expected. Through the narrow streets she made her way back when she suddenly spotted O’Sullivan and to her astonishment Aramis. They were too far away, but she wanted to know what they were talking about.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Maybe it was pure luck, but Aramis really had found O’Sullivan. He had nearly given up, asking around the merchants. The only description of O’Sullivan that he could give them was not sufficient. Most of them only shrugged and Aramis moved on. Small roads, dirty courts, but Paris was too huge to find one single man. After two hours of feverish and desperate searching he decided to return to the palace. On his way back he suddenly spotted a man, clothed in a black leather suit, as he drew nearer to him he saw that it was really O’Sullivan. He was crossing a narrow lane near the palace.

 

        Aramis jumped from his horse and ran after him. O’Sullivan turned his head around looking puzzled.

 

“Are you looking for me, is it your friend, what was … is ... his name ... Athos? I saw him earlier, he wasn’t looking very good, can I help …?” O’Sullivan started to talk to Aramis.

 

        Hearing these words Aramis became more and more agitated. He didn’t know why. But he suddenly felt the need to hit this man. Maybe it was the wording of his words - _what was his name?-_  or the arrogant tone in which the false medic spoke to him, pretending to help. Aramis walked nearer and was now standing in front of him. With his right fist he punched O’Sullivan on the chin.

 

“You murderer!” Aramis shouted at him. “What have you done to my friend? Why do you want to see him dead? What has he done to you?”

 

        O’Sullivan stumbled backwards, but he managed to remain upright. His chin hurt from Aramis’ punch. The Musketeer’s eyes were like embers in his pale face. It seemed that all blood had left his lips and cheeks. His voice was vibrating with anger.

 

“What is it with you, that you always feel the need to beat me?” The Irish merchant said in an angry and dangerous tone. 

 

        Cautiously he took a few steps backwards to put more space between him and the angry Musketeer, while he massaged his throbbing chin.

 

“Why have you poisoned Athos?” Aramis growled, ready to punch him again.

 

        He knew he should arrest him at once, but he wanted answers, and proofs and he felt the desperate need to hurt this man.

 

“I have not poisoned your friend Athos!” O’Sullivan stated dryly. “On the contrary I wanted to help him with my medical knowledge.”

 

“Ha!” Aramis laughed out loud. “Your medical knowledge! You maybe know about poisonous plants, but you have no experience in caring for people in need. I know people like you, you are a sadist. You love to watch other people suffer in pain. So, I repeat my question. Why do you want my friend dead?” Aramis said in a very slow, but dangerous voice.

 

        O’Sullivan stared coldly at Aramis.

 

“You are mistaken. Let me go!”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ Perfect … he is in a narrow lane … but he is talking to O’Sullivan … anyway this street is dark, not much sunlight … I need to strike soon … who knows if I will ever have a better chance than now … he hasn’t recognised me … I have followed him for two hours now … where is my dagger … no … wait first a knock on his head … I have make it look like a robbery that went wrong … less suspicious than ... _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Aramis recognised that he wouldn’t get any answer from O’Sullivan. This man was hiding something but what? He wasn’t sure.

 

“By order of the King I arrest you for the murder of two people at the palace and the attempted murder of one of the King’s Musketeers.” Aramis stated.

 

“You are kidding me!” O’Sullivan now shouted. “Why? I haven’t killed anybody. At least not here in Paris.”

 

“You can have it the easy way or the hard way.” Aramis told him. “You will now follow me back to the palace or …”

 

“I won’t do such a thing. I have an important meeting to attend …”

 

“I thought you were here to visit the trade summit. It is very strange that you aren’t at the King’s feast right now. You should be honoured that he has invited you.” Aramis enquired.

 

“This is none of your business. I will not come with you.”

 

        Aramis had been busy checking O’Sullivan for weapons, watching his facial expression as he questioned him. He was completely concentrated on the false medic so that he didn’t notice the man lurking in the shadows in the narrow lane they were still standing in .  As Aramis went to draw his pistol to arrest O’Sullivan he suddenly felt a movement behind him. Before he could turn around he felt a pricking pain on the back of his head and before he could react his pistol fell down to the ground. His eyes rolled back in his head and he followed his pistol, hitting the heavy ground unconscious. The dark figure was ready to take his knife again to cut Aramis throat …

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	42. I failed you, Aramis.

⚔⚔

 

        Like his men, Tréville was shocked about the recent events. Nevertheless he had to be strong for them, for all of them, for Athos, who was now finally sleeping, for Aramis who felt guilty, for Porthos who had decided not to lose sight of his ill brother for a second time and for d’Artagnan. The young Musketeer had nearly lost his mentor today, a man he adored, whom he looked up to and who had helped him mourning over his father’s death.

 

        Now was not the time to wallow in self-pity. He could have easily prevented this second attack, by a direct order to leave Athos behind guarded by other Musketeers and he would have found a way to decline the direct order of King Louis. D’Artagnan had already managed it for him. Still haunted by the distress of his Lieutenant Tréville returned to the palace. He had another task to fulfill. He had to talk with Rochefort and if possible with the King. But first Rochefort. He hoped that by now O’Sullivan had been arrested. As he reached the palace his mood had changed from concern into anger. He found Rochefort in one of the corridor’s next to the hall, where King Louis was still celebrating his huge feast. Rochefort had changed his clothes. He limped towards Tréville, obviously the kick of the Duke of Savoy had injured his leg more than he had let the King know earlier.

 

“Captain, what’s going on? Why have you ordered the arrest of this Irish merchant and why did you leave in such a hurry?” Rochefort asked curiously staring into Tréville’s unreadable eyes.

 

“Come, let us talk in this room over there.”

 

        So Rochefort followed Tréville, still limping with his left leg. Somehow Tréville didn’t mind being faster than the scheming Comte. They entered the small room where the nobleman had died several hours ago. His corpse was no longer there.

 

“I … we believe that O’Sullivan has something to do with two deaths at the palace lately?”

 

“Who is we?” Rochefort stated enquiring.

 

        His eyes scanned Tréville’s whole appearance. The man looked tired, exhausted and around his eyes he could see signs of sorrow.

 

“My men, Doctor Lemay …” Tréville paused and wiped his face with his hand. “We have found out that the young court-lady and the nobleman who died today were poisoned with belladonna. And not only them, Athos, was poisoned too.” He explained in a low voice.

 

“How? When?” Tréville could hear the surprise in Rochefort’s voice. “Is the King in any immediate danger?”

 

“We are still investigating, but it seems more a personal vendetta than an attack against our King. Our enquiries over the past few days have led us to O’Sullivan. He has the means, he knows about poisonous plants and he was in contact with all three of them.”

 

“How is Athos? I mean will he live? Belladonna is a very devilish plant, I have heard.” Rochefort stated prying. “You should have told me, Tréville. I would have never asked for Athos to fight against the Duke if I had known …”

 

“What’s done is done.” Tréville answered harshly. “Athos was lucky. His body has beaten the poison. So he was fit for duty today, but …” Tréville swallowed hard.

 

“But what?” Rochefort asked in his unnerving voice.

 

“There was a second attempt on his life today. That makes me certain that it is still something personal. He was knifed. The doctor has treated his wound, but we are still not sure if he will survive.”

 

“Could Athos identify his attacker? I mean was it O’Sullivan?”

 

“We are still investigating that. Athos … my Lieutenant is in no condition right now to either give a statement or be questioned. But we have enough evidence that leads us into the direction of the Irish merchant.” Tréville breathed in heavily.

 

“We have to stop this madman!” Rochefort exclaimed loudly. “Two dead people, poisoned, an attack on one of the King’s Musketeers. This is a direct threat to the King too. Come Tréville. My men haven’t arrested him yet, but maybe if we search his quarters we will find more evidence or a hint where he might have flown.” Rochefort now urged Tréville to follow him.

 

_Why am I always not able to figure Rochefort?_

_He can be cold, arrogant, but the next moment he surprises you._

_The Spanish imprisonment has really changed him._

_I am not sure if in a positive way. He tried to kill Athos all these years ago and now he says an attack on him is an attack against the King?_

_Anyway his idea to search O’Sullivan’s quarters is a good idea._

_I would have ordered that much earlier, if …_

 

“Come on Captain, what are you waiting for?” Rochefort had already rushed out of the room.

 

_Odd his leg seems to be better he isn’t limping anymore._

 

        Tréville followed Rochefort to O’Sullivan’s quarters. Rochefort ordered some of the Red Guards who they met on the way to come with them.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        The dark figure was ready to take its knife again to cut Aramis' throat, but the thundering footsteps of another person coming down the narrow lane made him decide to escape ignoring the Irish merchant as he ran. O’Sullivan made no attempt to help the hit Musketeer who was lying on the dirty ground, but turned around and hurried away.

 

        Milady cursed seeing Aramis lying on the floor.

 

_Why is this man so foolish to investigate on his own? These streets are dangerous. He should have known that._

 

        She had seen O’Sullivan running away, but not the dark figure. Now she knelt next to the still unconscious medic and slapped softly on his cheek.

 

“Wake up! Come on. It’s time for you to return to the garrison.”

 

        She heard a loud moan escaping Aramis’ lips.

 

“Hmmm … go away …”

 

“Sorry, I can’t do you this favour. You are still needed.” She said without any emotion. Instead she slapped him another time on his cheek.

 

“Get up! Open your eyes! You can’t rest here on the floor!”

 

        Sluggishly Aramis opened his eyes. He felt the sudden pain at the back of his head and put his hand to the painful spot. He could feel a large bump, but no blood.

 

“What … happened?” He asked, as he straightened himself in a sitting position, his right hand still on the pulsing bump.

 

“Someone decided to knock you out. I saw O’Sullivan walking away.”

 

“What …” Aramis tried to think more clearly.

 

_It can’t have been O’Sullivan. He was standing in front of me. It was another man. Didn’t Athos mention a man stabbing him today. A man he thought who was watching him? What is Milady doing here? Did she knock me out? And why has O’Sullivan left? He could have helped me. Alright, maybe not, I wanted to arrest him … but as a true medic he would have stayed and helped nevertheless. With helping me he could have convinced me of his innocence. Something is very wrong here … What …_

 

“What are you doing here?” He suddenly asked Milady.

 

“Saving your life? Rescuing you? Helping you? Choose whatever you like.” Milady mocked him. “Do you need a hand to get up? I’m sure the muddy floor isn’t very comfortable.”

 

        Aramis declined her help, but got up himself, a bit shaken. Once again he checked himself roughly through. He didn’t feel dizzy, so he was lucky. No concussion. Nevertheless his head hurt, but his weapons were still there.

 

“You know Aramis, you could be a bit more grateful.” Milady said impatiently.

 

“What …?” Aramis looked confused at her.

 

“I doubt that you would have been so lucky and so … alive if I hadn’t found you. I was looking for you.”

 

“You were looking for me?” Aramis asked irritated.

 

“I have gathered some new information for you!” She stated firmly, then she continued. “I always thought that O’Sullivan was behind the attack against Athos but I’m not so sure any longer.”

 

“Why?” Aramis asked her and Milady repeated to Aramis what she had overheard that morning.

 

“Well, according to you Rochefort gave O’Sullivan Athos’ name, that was evidence enough for me to question him further.” Aramis tried to get rid of the cobwebs in his still hurting head. “If O’Sullivan wants to avenge his brother-in-arms the Irishman now has the proof.”

 

“But he told Rochefort that Athos was only following orders and that he wanted the name of the person who hired him.”

 

“Has Rochefort given him his name?” Aramis asked her.

 

        Milady hesitated for a short moment then she shook her head.

 

“Wait … that was you … you hired Gallagher …” Aramis groaned out loud and regretted it immediately as another pain was throbbing through his head and he had to fight the dizziness.

 

“I worked for the Cardinal back then …” Milady tried to justify herself.

 

“Thus O’Sullivan wants to know the names of the people who are responsible for the death of Gallagher. That is a perfect motive for me. What makes you doubt that?” Aramis asked Milady.

 

“I am not sure and it may be nothing, but I don’t trust the Duke of Savoy. He is hiding something.”

 

“What makes you think that?” Aramis wanted to know. His right hand rested now on the goose egg that had formed on the back of his head.

 

“He’s been acting suspiciously today, I followed him earlier and he was very interested in plants. I have no clue why. Alas I lost him and then I saw you.” Milady finished her report.

 

“So, you were not really looking for me.” Aramis looked at her.

 

“I want to know who has done this to Athos. I only want to help, Aramis. Really!” Milady paused and then with a much softer voice she added:

 

“I heard that Athos fell into the _Seine_ that morning. The whole court is talking about it. I wanted to …” She paused. “How is he?”  

 

        Aramis felt his aching head, he had trouble to understand this woman. One moment she wanted to kill Athos, the next moment she wanted to see him safe. Usually he had a good understanding of women, but this woman was still a riddle to him.

 

 _Oh Athos, you should decide more wisely which woman you are falling in love in but I am no better than you._ He thought bitterly.

 

“He is …” He paused. “He will be alright at least I hope so. Pray that his wound doesn’t get infected. Now, you have to excuse me, I need to inform the Captain and I have a patient  to look after.”

 

“What wound Aramis?” Milady wanted to know. “Has he injured himself by falling into the _Seine_?” Aramis ignored her. He felt the sudden urge to check on Athos. The medic slowly made his way back where he had left his horse, grateful that it was still waiting for him.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Open that door!” Rochefort ordered one of his men, while Tréville was standing next to him at the front of the O’Sullivan’s quarters.    

 

        The door had been bolted. The Red Guard had first used the wooden handle, but as he couldn’t open the white door he now used his heavy black boot to open it. After the third try the door was still closed. Irritated Tréville ordered him to step out of the way. Then he drew his pistol and with one shot he opened the door.

 

        He let Rochefort enter first, then he followed him. Both Captains looked around. There were some papers and letters on the wooden desk, but nothing important. The sheets on the bed were rumpled, the pillow lay on the floor and in a corner there was a jute sack. Rochefort grabbed it, put it on the desk and opened it. It contained a few leaves of plants. With his black gloves he went through the rest of the content. He found a small vial and a parcel wrapped in white paper.

 

“What have we here?” He looked at the bottle and read the Latin words _belladonna tincture_ on the label.

 

“Captain Tréville, have a look!” He showed the bottle to Tréville. “I don’t want to open it, but there are still a few drops of the liquid in the bottle. I will give it to Doctor Lemay. He’ll do a proper analysis of it, but if the label is correct he had the poison with him the whole time.”

   

        Tréville moved next to Rochefort and took the parcel. As he opened it, the contents of three objects fell onto the wooden surface and as he looked more closely he frowned. He first reached for a pin, the same size of the pin which had nearly killed Athos. It was made of the same pure gold and was adorned with a small oval cameo representing a Greek or Roman deity holding torches and showing a moon crescent, with three heads wearing a tiara, her long hair falling in waves on her white breast. The gem was a dark violet, undoubtedly amethyst.

 

“Hecate.” Rochefort said. “The Greek goddess of death and night.

 

        Porthos had shown Tréville the pin they had found with blood on it in the alley in front of the dressmaker’s shop and it was very similar to this one. He looked at the two other objects, a brooch representing a bird made of garnets, with large open wings and a golden ring also adorned with a mythological figure. Tréville drew nearer to the window and observed the ring.

 

“Janus.” He murmured. “And this red bird, it has a name too?”

 

“I think it’s a Phoenix.” Rochefort told him in a contemptuous tone. “The Phoenix dies in flames and arises from his ashes, he symbolizes resurrection, renewal.”

 

        Rochefort straightened his back and watched the effect of his knowledge on the Musketeer soldier as he dared to taunt him, here, at the palace. Tréville glared at the Comte. Would this peacock be able to rise from his ashes after having been roasted on a spit?      

 

“Very fond of mythology our Irish murderer. The bottle and these items are evidence enough for me. We have to find him very quickly and question him!” Tréville stated with a severity in his voice Rochefort hadn’t heard from him before.  

 

“Do you recognise any of these items?” Rochefort wanted to know.

 

“This pin with the cameo on it, Athos has been poisoned with such a pin, and the figure on the ring.”

 

“But what reason would O’Sullivan have to poison Athos?” Rochefort asked.

 

“We will find out!” Tréville didn’t want to give him all his information. “I have to inform the King that there is a murderer in his palace. If your men arrest O’Sullivan, please let me know.”

 

        Tréville scanned the whole room again, looking for any further evidence or a hint where O’Sullivan might have gone, but he couldn’t see anything. Tréville took the papers and jewels with him. “Make sure that Lemay gets this bottle as fast as possible and tell him we need an answer very soon.”

 

        With these words Tréville left Rochefort. He didn’t want Rochefort with him, when he was going to inform the King. He needed a good moment and he wasn’t so sure if it would be now. Maybe he still had to wait a bit longer.   

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_It’s over. It is his first thought._

_It’s painful. It is his first sensation._

_They are dead. They are his first words._

_He failed them. This stranger killed them and wounded him._

_He failed them. They are dead._

 

_Ringing bells._

_Mourning convent._

_Chanting nuns._

_Crying crows._

_A door is ajar._

 

_Weak light._

_He can see him._

 

_Dim dawn._

_He can see them._

 

_Black curly hair mingled with blond silky strands._

_Closed black eyes and closed porcelain blue irises._

_Olive cheek against pearly temple._

_Entwined couple in Death’s embrace._

_Entwined couple sleeping in scarlet sheets._

_I failed the Queen._

_It hurts so much._

_I failed you, Aramis._

 

“Aramis!”

 

        The scream pierced the silence. D’Artagnan awoke bewildered. The hand he had kept in Athos’ even in his sleep, had slipped. Porthos was already awake, watching his friends sleeping, so he reacted quickly. He reached for Athos and cupped his face with his big hands.

 

“Shhh … It’s a dream … Just a dream!”

 

        Athos struggled to escape his touch.

 

“Hur .. s …. Wher … I am … orry … Aramis …”

 

“Hey, look at me … You are safe … Everyone is safe!” Porthos tried to reassure him.

 

“I don’t think he can hear you. He isn’t awake.” D’Artagnan whispered.

 

“I know … Shh … Athos … Calm down …” He murmured, slowly rocking his friend.

 

“I failed … you. I … Ar … a … is ... noooo ...”

 

        Athos screamed again, tears on his cheeks. He became more and more agitated. He managed to free his right hand from under the sheets and blankets he was tucked in. With it he sluggishly grabbed at Porthos shirt collar. Then with a new strength Porthos had no idea where Athos took it from, he fastened his grip into a death grip. His fingers turned white and he pulled Porthos further down. It was hard for Porthos not to tumble on his ill friend’s back.

 

“Don’t leave … me … alone. Plea … se. … mis.”

 

        Porthos winced. Athos was clutching at him with so much strength, it was almost painful. D’Artagnan stared at them, his eyes wide and shiny in the dim light. How long would their friend have to endure this ordeal? He felt so useless. Screams and tears again, whispered words, soothing gestures, until Athos finally fell back on his pillows plunged into a deep restless sleep.

 

_Aramis. Wait for me._

 

“Ara … mis. Wait … for … me.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Porthos had sent d’Artagnan to eat something. The young Musketeer had been agitated after he had had to witness Athos’ horrible nightmare. They had both tried to wake him, but Athos was too far away. They both watched helplessly as their brother moaned and screamed during his frantic dream. Now Athos had settled again, from time to time his body was shaken by some minor shivers. Then they had tried to warm his hands and feet by putting their own hands on them and massaging them. It seemed to help a little.

 

“Catch some fresh air. I will stay with him.” Porthos had urged the young man to leave the infirmary.

 

        Porthos was still shaken by the whole ordeal his stoic friend had had to endure these past few hours. But what had scared him the most and still frightened him enough not to want to leave his brother’s side were the words Athos had said to him as he had clutched at his clothes in a death grip. _Don’t leave me alone._ Spoken with a frightened voice, full of distress. He shouldn’t have helped the nobleman, he should have stayed next to Athos the whole time. Not letting go of him, protecting him. Athos had counted on him and he … Porthos sighed deeply and blinked some tears away, wiping them with his right hand, while his left was still holding Athos’ cold fingers. He had put the blanket over both their hands and massaged the cold skin with his thumb from time to time.

 

        Suddenly he felt watched. Porthos turned around, looked to the left, to the right, nothing. A deep sigh from Athos made him frown. He looked down at his friend. Athos was still lying on his stomach, but he had turned his head, his eyes were half opened and he blinked several times, to dispel his blurred vision.

 

“There you are.” Porthos smiled at him. “It’s good to see you awake.”

 

        Athos had difficulty concentrating on Porthos’ voice. A sharp pain in his lower back made him moan out loud.

 

“Easy, easy!” Porthos laid his hand on Athos’ back, as his bedridden friend became more and more agitated and tried to turn around.

 

“Try to stay calm.”

 

        Athos tried to figure out what was going on.

 

_Where am I? Why does my back hurt? Why is Porthos sitting next to me?_

_I can’t remember … I … I must have been hurt._

_No, please nooo … Gallagher has hit me with his sword on my back._

_Aramis … The Queen … They are dead … I couldn’t save them …_

 

        Tears welled up in Athos’ eyes.

   

“Shhh … Athos. It’s alright. You are safe. I am here. I won’t leave you again.” Porthos softly wiped Athos’ tears away with a cloth.

 

“They are … dead … it is my fault …” Athos gasped and tried to turn his head away.

 

        Porthos was irritated.

 

“Who is dead?”

 

        Athos breathed in deeply and another shiver ran down his spine. He felt the pain in his back pulsing and he moaned again, but weaker and he started to sob. Porthos stood up and knelt next to him. He tried to comfort Athos by squeezing his shoulder tighter.

 

_Blood. Blood everywhere. I couldn’t save them. I remember. They were lying in their blood. Why can’t you understand Porthos? Why aren’t you blaming me? Why aren’t you despising me? Why are you still here? I don’t deserve your kindness. You are mistaken … Let me go … Can’t you see that even d’Artagnan understood … He left … Oh, my God … It’s so painful … It’s my punishment … I failed Aramis, Porthos, I failed your best friend, your brother! Open your eyes! He is dead! By my fault! Your best friend, I killed him! It hurts … it hurts so much. Help me …_

 

“Athos! Talk to me. Who is dead?”

 

“The Queen … Aramis …” Athos cried, tears running over his face.

 

        Porthos blinked, confused. Then it hit him like a fist in the stomach. Athos’ nightmare, he must think that his dream was real.

 

“Shhh … Athos. They are alive. Both. The Queen, Aramis …”

 

        Athos became more and more agitated.

 

“Liar!” He growled angrily at Porthos. “Gallagher hit me with his sword. I couldn’t help them anymore.”

 

“Gallagher is dead.” Porthos stated firmly with a calm voice. “More than a year ago, Aramis and you saved the Queen. You had to kill Gallagher as he tried to kill you. You asked him to surrender, but he declined your offer. The Queen is safe, Aramis is safe.”

 

        Athos tried to concentrate on Porthos’ words. The words sounded like honey on his soul, but something was amiss. If Porthos’ words were true, why wasn’t Aramis with him? Athos became more and more aware of his surroundings. He was in the infirmary. Some sounds from the outside, from the courtyard made him recognise that he was at the garrison. He was hurt. How? When? He couldn’t remember, but if Aramis was still alive, if what Porthos was telling him, was the truth, where was Aramis? Whenever he was injured Aramis was sitting at his side, waiting for him to wake up, caring for him.

 

“If your words are true … where is … Aramis?” Athos asked with a doubtful voice.

 

        Porthos locked eyes with his sick friend. It didn’t make sense to tell Athos everything right now, his friend was confused, in pain, upset.

 

“He had to follow an order from the Captain, but he will be back soon. Promise!” Porthos pressed his friend’s shoulders.

 

        Athos turned his head away. He felt dizzy and so cold.

 

“What … what has happened?” He mumbled.

 

“What do you recall?” Porthos asked quietly.

 

“We were on a mission to protect the Queen but we failed. One of her court-ladies has been killed. The poor young woman, we couldn’t do anything for her. And then we had to run and hide at the Convent … I was injured …” Athos swallowed hard. “Wait no … that was …” He tried to remember.

 

“Why can’t I remember what happened to me?” Frustrated he looked again into Porthos’ eyes. There was something his friend didn’t want to tell him, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

 

“Try to sleep, Athos. You have been severely wounded. Aramis has sewn your wound earlier but you need to rest. Your body is still very weak, keep calm, relax, I am here.”

 

        Frustrated Athos closed his eyes. Porthos wouldn’t lie to him about Aramis’ death.

 

_Why am I so confused? Why can’t I remember what has happened to me. Wait. I remember d’Artagnan talking to me. Helping me to ease the pain._

_I was at the palace. But why? Palace guard?_

_No … Something else? Anne … she … she said something to me …_

_Why would Anne be at the palace after I  forced her to leave?_

 

“Porthos … why can’t I … recall … what?”

 

“Shhh … easy Athos. Your mind is playing tricks on you right now. Try to rest, to sleep. You will feel better and then you will remember again I’m sure.” Porthos told him with a convincing tone in his voice.

 

        Porthos steady aura calmed the sick Musketeer, he felt so cold, so tired  and exhausted he closed his eyes and drifted off in another restless sleep. Porthos tried to be strong for Athos, to stay calm, but as his brother finally fell back to sleep he felt a tear running down his cheek.

 

_Get better soon Athos. I need to find Aramis. You need him. You haven’t trusted my words. Oh this horrible nightmare, when will it stop. I want to have you back Athos. I want to have you as your grumpy self._

 

        Slowly he wiped his tears away with his arm as a knock at the door startled him. He wanted to grab his pistol, but as he looked up and saw Tréville entering he relaxed.

 

“Has he already woken? Could he tell you anything about his attacker?” Tréville asked softly, ignoring Porthos red rimmed and sad eyes.

 

“He just woke up, but he was very confused, he thought that Gallagher had killed Aramis and the Queen and then stabbed him with his sword in his back.”

 

        Tréville sat on a chair on the opposite side of Porthos. He looked down at the sleeping form of his Lieutenant. He could hear the uneven breathing, he could see him still shivering.

 

“Porthos, go and find Aramis. He should have been back by now! Athos needs him to become better.”

 

        Porthos hesitated.

 

“I promised him not to leave him alone, he asked me to help him, to protect him earlier.” Porthos quietly explained.

 

“You go, I’ll wait with him and d’Artagnan is on his way back too. I will not leave his side until you are back, I promise, find Aramis, that’s an order.” Tréville looked into Porthos’ dark eyes.

 

        Finally the big Musketeer stood up, put his palm on Athos’ upper back and then left the infirmary very slowly.

 

_Where on earth shall I start my search for Aramis …_

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	43. You were dead.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting. ♥♥♥

⚔⚔

 

        When Porthos left, Tréville stood up and checked properly on his sleeping Lieutenant. He looked for any signs of a fever but Athos’ skin was still cold as he softly put his warm hand on Athos’ forehead. Next, he checked his hands, they were still too cold. He looked for a second blanket, which he pulled over Athos’ shivering form, while his officer was softly moaning in his sleep. 

 

_ What can I do for you to get better? Maybe a pain potion will help you, but I will let you sleep for now.  _

 

       Tréville left his palm on Athos’ upper back. He could feel Athos’ chest rising and falling more regularly. His mind wandered back to what had happened that afternoon at the palace. After Rochefort and he had searched O’Sullivan’s quarters he had tried to speak to the King, but Louis was much too focused on his feast. It would have only caused chaos to inform him then and he could easily imagine how it all would have ended. Louis would have been frightened thinking that he could possibly be the next victim. The whole summit would have been cancelled and instead of order they would have had even more chaos and in the end the King would blame his Musketeers and him for an unnecessary disturbance. So he made the lonely decision to inform Louis the next day as there was no immediate threat against the King. Sooner or later they would find O’Sullivan. He asked Villefort to brief Rochefort about his plans, talked with some of his men and then returned to the garrison. He hadn’t seen Aramis anywhere, but he had been at the palace and he hoped that his medic would return soon. He doubted that he would be lucky with his search but he understood so well his desire to arrest that _bastard_.

 

“Where is … Aramis?” Athos asked in a low voice. Tréville looked up surprised, he had thought that Athos was still asleep, he looked into his face. Athos had turned his head towards him, his green eyes were open and shimmering.

 

“It’s good to see you awake Athos. Aramis will be back soon. Porthos is looking for him. How are you?” Tréville asked wary.

 

       Athos thought about the question.

 

“I am ... cold … and ... my back hurts ... Have I lost a duel? ... A sword fight? … I must have been wounded, … but I am not sure … what … happened.” He sighed frustrated. “Porthos … he … he didn’t want … to tell me and ... I guess … I have ... scared him off …” Athos said very tiredly and slowly.        

 

       He paused several times. Thinking hard about what he wanted to say. Tréville noticed that his Lieutenant was still confused.

 

“I doubt that you can scare Porthos off, he didn’t want to leave your side. I ordered him to fetch Aramis, because you asked to see him.” Tréville grinned and with his hand he softly squeezed Athos’ shoulder.

 

       Athos tried to smile. A good sign. His lips formed a weak smile, but another shiver went through his spine and he felt his back hurting.

 

“Ahhh!”

 

“Shhh … it’s alright. Breathe through the pain.” Tréville advised him locking eyes with the sick man as Athos started to breathe irregularly. 

 

       Athos concentrated on Tréville’s words and relaxed again.

 

“Can you … tell me  … what happened?” He asked pleadingly as the pain started to ease.

 

       Tréville was struggling with himself. What could he tell Athos without agitating him further? What did he remember? Earlier he’d remembered that he had left the palace on his own, because he’d told him that he was sorry not to have listened to a direct order, now he wasn’t that sure if Athos could still remember that. It seemed that his memory played tricks on him and he wasn’t sure what caused it. The cold water, the loss of a large amount of blood, some shocking news, or the evil poison? He decided to tell him just a few facts.

 

“Athos, you were stabbed in your back, lost your balance and fell into the  _ Seine _ .” Tréville explained in a casual tone.

 

_ Not too much, only the important facts.  _

 

       The fact that Athos couldn’t remember made him alert, but he didn’t express his feelings or show him his own anxiety. 

 

_ Be strong for him. Don’t let him see your worry. _

 

       Athos closed his eyes and Tréville thought that his tired second-in-command had fallen asleep again. The low groan came unexpected and startled him. As Athos closed his eyes he suddenly had a flashback. His head was throbbing. He saw himself lying in his room, Aramis with him, talking about being poisoned and questioning him. A foreign man was in his room, there was a fight and then he was outside in the courtyard, very weak and feeling watched. His ride on the wagon to the palace, Porthos next to him. Those steep stairs, catching for his breath, his rapid heartbeat, his two brothers close to him, the sword fight … He started to feel dizzy, overwhelmed by the many pictures, impressions that flooded back into his tired mind. Confused, he blinked his reddish swollen eyes several times and looked then to Tréville.

 

“I … I was poisoned and ... I … I … we went to the palace … this morning, right?” He murmured. 

 

       Tréville was relieved Athos’ memory was coming back.

 

“Yes. It was this morning. It’s a good sign that you can recall. What else can you remember?” Tréville asked in his warm encouraging voice, his hand still resting on Athos’ upper back.

 

“I was in the throne room … the Duke of Savoy … Rochefort on the floor … but after this … wait someone collapsed … but after that I don’t know what happened. Have I collapsed? Have I fought against the Duke … has he hit me? … Or Rochefort? ... How did I end up in the  _ Seine _ ? Why … Why can’t I remember ...?” Athos asked frustrated. 

 

       He could feel his heartbeat racing, his chest tightened and his lungs started screaming for air. Sluggishly he opened his mouth. Tréville could see the change in Athos’ state of health.

 

“It’s alright. It will come back to you. Try to sleep Athos.” The Captain tried to soothe Athos, who now became more and more agitated. “Do you want a pain potion? I am sure …” Tréville couldn’t finish his sentence. 

 

       He could hear the loud boots of two men. Porthos was back with Aramis on his coat-tails. He first noticed them from the way their steps echoed over the wooden floor and as the door opened he looked into Aramis’ pale face and wondered what had happened to his medic. He looked like a wet poodle. Porthos only shrugged.

 

“Athos, I think Aramis will be able to give you a pain potion.” The Captain stood up and gestured Aramis to swap places with him. As Aramis passed him he softly whispered: 

“I am glad you are back. He needs you. He’s confused and he has trouble with his breathing.” While Aramis went beside Athos, Tréville gave Porthos a sign to follow him outside. Quietly they both left the infirmary.  

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A few minutes earlier_ **

 

       Porthos stopped on the threshold and raised his face, eyes closed, towards the sun. When he opened his eyelids, it took him a while to see clearly again. The courtyard was quiet as if each Musketeer and each horse had held his breath during the surgery and allowed their hurt friend to sleep peacefully. 

 

“Where is that damn fool?” Porthos growled. 

 

       Aramis was nowhere to be seen, Porthos knew that but with his sometimes hotheaded friend, he could fear the worst. This idiot could have been currently challenging a nobleman in a duel in front of the King, if he suspected him to be the murderer … Porthos was beginning to feel both enraged and very worried when a figure came out of the stables walking like a drunken man. 

 

_ What happened to him? _

 

       Porthos mused strolling towards his friend who had approached the well in an unsteady gait. Aramis stayed bent over the bucket for a few seconds, then, he plunged his head into the cold water. Porthos carefully approached him. 

 

“Hey! Using Athos’ method?” He laughed, uncertain. 

 

Aramis jumped and lifted his head so abruptly that he swayed and Porthos caught his arm to steady him.

 

“Woah, what’s the matter, Aramis?”

 

“No … nothing.” Aramis stammered, leaning on the sill, head low, eyes closed.

Porthos looked at the bowed head of this distressed wet poodle.

 

“What have you done?” He asked gently, laying a hand on his friend’s neck. 

 

He startled, feeling under his palm a lump the size of an egg. 

 

“What’s that?” He inquired feeling the anger building in his chest. “What happened?” 

 

       Aramis only answered with a question.

 

“Athos?”  

 

“Athos? Sleeping, for now. You should come back into the room. He will need you. What have you found? Who have you found?”

 

“I will tell you … but …”

 

       He swayed again, and brought a hand to his temple.

 

“Alright, sit down.” Porthos ordered guiding him towards a bench. 

 

       They stayed silent for a while, then Aramis began to speak, his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees.

 

“It was the first time. You see?”

 

“Er … not really … Aramis … What are you trying to tell me?”

 

Aramis raised his head and spread his hands in front of him.

 

“My hands. It was the first time I couldn’t trust them. Just when I had to be calm and steady, I was shaking like a young bride at the altar.” 

 

“And?”

 

“And? Don’t you understand? How can you, my friends, rely on me, if I behave like that each time you are hurt or ill?” Aramis whispered shakingly, fingers still splayed. 

 

“Sure, whoever did this to your head was too strong. It’s not like you talking nonsense like that. Come on, come back to Athos.” Porthos said, standing up and holding his hand to his friend.

 

       Aramis ignored him.

 

“No, it’s better if you take care of him. I’m incompetent, I can’t heal my friend properly and I couldn’t even catch the man who did this to him … ”

 

Porthos roared and pointed his forefinger at him.

 

“Now, either you come and do your job because Athos needs you, you don’t even realise how much he needs you, or …”

 

“What do you mean?” Aramis asked looking straight into his friend’s eyes.

 

“I mean that … he …”

 

“Porthos …” Aramis urged him.

 

“He had a nightmare, and …” 

 

“And?” Aramis asked, standing up slightly shaking on his legs. 

 

“And he needs you, that’s all, and he has asked for you and will do so again as soon as he is awake, so either you come right now or I lift you over my shoulder like the sack of nonsense you are and carry you to the infirmary. Agreed?”

 

       Aramis sniffled and looked at Porthos with a very small smile.

 

“That’s it. Come on, you wet puppy!” Porthos laughed slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

 

“Hey!” Aramis barked throwing his elbow in Porthos’ ribs.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

       Awkwardly turning his head towards the newcomer, Athos followed each of his movements with an unreadable expression as he noticed the stiffness in his gait, his wince as he turned his head, the pallor of his usually tanned complexion and the so sad expression in his dark eyes. He frowned at Aramis who sat down on the chair next to the bed, brushed his hand on his friend’s head and looked at him questioningly with a sheepish smile:

 

“What?”

 

“Wh… ? Nothing. Just …” Athos answered uneasy. 

 

“Nothing? Except that you are in pain, anxious and in an absolute need for my presence.” Aramis smiled fondly then snorted. “I wonder why … I am not very …”

 

       He leaned forward his hands clasped together, and looked straight into Athos’ eyes.

 

“Athos … I …” He continued.

 

“Aramis.” Athos cut him. “Please, help … help me to … move. I want … to … lie on my back.”

 

“Athos, it isn't a good idea. Your wound is too fresh.”  

 

“On my side, at least. I feel so … helpless … vulnerable … and …”

 

Aramis left the chair and knelt on the floor hissing a little when his body made him recall the past hours. His eyes leveled with Athos’ he could see more clearly the expression in the green irises clouded by shades of grey, beads of water trembling in the long, almost feminine, lashes. Aramis closed his hand around the icy cold fingers on the pillow. 

 

“You are not vulnerable, you are strong, you will be better in a few days …” Aramis said softly squeezing his friend’s hand.

 

“I am not strong, I am weak. I am weak enough to … to be scared … by …”

 

Athos turned his hand to link their fingers together. 

 

“I can’t remember … everything is … confused … I was so frightened by …”

 

“By what Athos? Tell me …”

 

“A dream. I thought … I didn’t know why …”

 

“Shh … take your time … breathe …” Aramis tried to calm him. 

 

       Breathing while lying on his belly wasn’t easy for him. He tried to raise his head, but his breath caught in his throat because of his position.

 

“Please …” He pleaded. “I can’t … breathe. I need to … turn …”

 

       Aramis sighed, stood up and gently, very gently and carefully helped him to roll just a little onto his side, just enough to free his lungs from the pressure of the mattress. He arranged a pillow behind his shoulders and kept his hand on his nape to steady him, then he he took his hand again. Athos moaned and breathed in a few shallow breaths before calming again. His face was now covered in sweat and Aramis wiped it with the cuff of his shirt sleeve.

 

“Do you want to drink something?”

 

“You were dead.” Athos finally managed, closing his eyes again and not answering Aramis’ question.

 

       Aramis approached his face a little more as he saw a tear rolling down his friend’s cheek. He softly wiped it with his thumb.

 

“I was dead? In your dream?”

 

“You. You and her… I failed you … She is dead now …”

 

“Athos, what are you talking about? Who is  _ she _ ?”

 

“Oh, my God … it was a dream … but it seemed so real … The Queen … and you … lying in a bed of blood.”

 

       Instinctively,  Aramis turned his eyes towards the door.

 

“Shh … Athos … it’s over now. We are alive. All of us …”

 

       Athos smiled tiredly and squeezed his friend’s fingers.

 

“Barely …” 

 

       He resumed his position on his belly, breathing hard through his quivering nostrils  and his expression became blank for a second as he continued:

 

“I can’t remember … all is … like … mixed up … in my head.”

 

“It’s normal. You lost a rather vital amount of blood and you were already so tired. Your memory will return.”

 

       Athos stayed silent so Aramis, thinking him asleep, sat back on his haunches, ready to keep watch over his friend, but Athos spoke again.

 

“How are you?”

 

“Athos, who is lying on a bed in an infirmary?” Aramis mocked with a soft smile.

 

       Athos opened his eyes and tried to look around him and sighed.

 

“Infirmary? I … Oh my God… I was there again …”

 

“Where were you?”

 

“The … Convent … you were … dead … Gallagher … It’s him … my back … No?”

 

His voice was so broken when he uttered this “no”, Aramis shivered … Where was the strong almost invincible soldier?

 

“Forget the Convent, please. It was a long time ago.”

 

Athos looked at him but Aramis felt that it was his soul he was looking at.

 

“And you … did you forget?”

 

Aramis closed his eyes. Athos resumed more alert now.

 

“No … I am sorry, Aramis … I remember now … the throne hall … did I collapse? A loud thud … I remember a loud thud …  tell me … did I collapse?  … I … my head hurtss ...”

 

“Calm, Athos … your body needs rest. No wonder your head hurts. Don’t over exert yourself. Your memory will come back, I am certain, give it time.” The medic pressed Athos’ cold hand. “And no ... you didn’t collapse. So the court-ladies have nothing to gossip about, at least nothing about you, handsome knight.” Aramis tried to ease Athos’ tension.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Sorry? What happened where? When?” Aramis asked thinking that Athos was still speaking of the Convent, when he saw Athos confused look.

 

“Today. What happened to you?”

 

“Oh … nothing …”

 

“You are … a bad … liar. I can see how … you put your hand … in your … hair … wet hair ...? Is it raining … outside?” Athos asked puzzled by his friend’s appearance. 

 

“Oh that … it’s nothing.”

 

“Aramis.” Athos nearly managed a perfect glare but he suddenly stiffened as a wave of pain hit his back. He closed his eyes again and squeezed his friend’s hand in a death grip.

 

“Shhh … Athos … The doctor will come and see you … For now, I will give you something for the pain. You need to rest.”

 

“No … Tell me …”  

 

“I … wanted to … arrest … the … the … the man who did this to you … But I failed … I failed you. He knocked me out … ”

 

“Aramis … Stop this … please … I don’t want you … to be …  killed for my sake.” 

 

“Now, can I let go of your hand? I need both of mine to prepare you something for this pain.”

 

“Who … ‘mis … who did ... this … to ...?” Athos asked. 

 

“Athos … please … pain potion first.”

 

       Athos looked at him with a tired smile.

 

“Very well.” He murmured tiredly. His eyes started to close again.

 

_ Nothing is well.  _ The medic thought angrily. 

 

       As he turned around to give Athos the pain potion his friend had fallen asleep again. Softly, Aramis laid Athos back in the flat position on his stomach. Athos didn’t show any signs of waking up again. A deep sleep had him back in its grip. It didn’t make any sense to wake him again for the pain potion. It had to wait.

  
_ Rest my friend. The doctor will be here soon. _ Aramis thought while fastening the thick blanket again over the weak form of his friend.


	44. You need rest.

⚔⚔

 

_ Pain … a stabbing pain in my back … where am I? _

_ Who is talking to me …? _

_ My hands are cold … my feet … why am I so cold …? _

_ Someone is touching my back … hands … Aramis … what is he doing? _

_ What is he saying …? His voice sounds relieved. _

_ Who is with me. Other hands … why are they lifting my shirt …? _

_ Someone is calling my name … I want to sleep … my head hurts and I am so cold … _

 

“Athos … Athos, come on … wake up. The doctor is here. He needs to check on you. You are lucky your wound doesn’t show any signs of infection. I have put on some new salve with honey. Athos?”

 

         Athos heard Aramis’ soft voice which he always used when he didn’t feel well, when he was injured, drunk or had a cold. A warm voice, full of care, full of kindness.

 

_ Balm for my soul and he knows it. _

 

“Time to wake up, Athos. You need to drink. Athos …”

 

         Athos wanted to ignore the voice.

 

_ A soft touch on my shoulder. Another voice younger. More worried. D’Artagnan. No poem today? Why should he say a poem? Why am I lying here? What has happened to me? _

 

“Let me … I wanna … sleep. I am … tired … cold …” Athos half opened his eyes, the light of a candle that was standing on a small table near his head was hurting his eyes. With a pounding ache in his head he closed his eyes again.

 

“You can sleep again soon, Athos.” Doctor Lemay told his patient, bending down over him. “I only have to check you over, decide which medicine you need and then you can rest again.” He explained softly.

 

         Athos sighed out loud, before opening his eyes again.

 

“There you are.” Porthos grinned at him, sitting next to him. A bright smile. “Missed those green eyes of yours.” He joked as Athos blinked several times. But this time he didn’t shut them again.

 

“What …?” Athos tiredly asked.

 

“I am going to help you lay on your back again.” Porthos stood up and positioned himself next to Athos.

 

         The swordsman was too confused to figure out what Porthos meant.

 

“We will help you to turn onto your back, so that the doctor can check you over properly.” Aramis repeated.

 

“Alright, how can I help?” Athos heard the voice of his Captain.

 

“We need to be careful with his wound. We have to lay a pillow here.” Lemay showed with his hands and Athos couldn’t see what he was explaining. “D’Artagnan this will be your job, be as careful as possible, it must still hurt him.” Lemay further remarked. “You Captain will help with his legs and you Porthos with his shoulders. Aramis you know what to do?”

“Yes.” Athos heard Aramis saying. Aramis bent down over Athos’ ear again.

“We will help you now to lie on your back, please co-operate, don’t fight us and tell us, when you feel uncomfortable.” Aramis squeezed his right hand. Athos felt a warm pressure on his cold skin.

 

_ Funny. He knows exactly that I don’t like to be touched, thus I will feel uncomfortable. _

 

         Athos had no time to protest. He heard Lemay’s order. “Now.” He felt his body lifted, the pain in his back was throbbing. He felt a bit dizzy as the others turned him around on his sick bed. He could feel a soft pillow supporting his lower back. The pain eased and he could hear them stepping away from him and then he could see them again. Worried eyes looking down on him. He hated that, he didn’t like to be the center of attention. Angrily he groaned. Even worse he couldn’t remember why he was lying here, when and where had he been injured? Of course he knew that he was in the infirmary of the garrison. Of course he was aware that his friends, the Captain and the doctor were worried about him, but why had he ended up here … as hard as he tried to remember … he couldn’t get a clear picture.

 

“Don’t …”

 

“Don’t what?” Aramis mocked softly when Athos’ deadly but milder glare as usual locked with his eyes.

 

“Don’t look at me ... like that … all of you … I am … f …”

 

_ No, I am not fine. _

 

“I will be … fine.” Athos stated with a weak voice, his throat started to hurt him again.

 

“That’s why I am here.” Lemay interrupted him, before Aramis could answer with an angry tirade on Athos using the word  _ fine _ . “I will roughly check you over.” The doctor said to him.

 

         Then Athos could feel a warm hand on his forehead.

 

“That’s good you don’t have a fever, but your skin is still cold. Open your mouth please.”

 

         He did as asked.

 

“Hmm … it is still swollen, but much better than before. Nevertheless talking is still hurting you. Am I right?” Athos nodded sluggishly. “More honey will ease the pain.” Lemay pressed his right shoulder.

 

         Then the doctor lifted his shirt and Athos assumed, he inspected the rash. “It’s much better. Aramis you should put on your salve again.” Then he put his palm on his chest feeling and listening to his heartbeat. Athos was irritated, somehow his heartbeat seemed to have slowed down. Different than before, but he still felt a tight grip in his chest.

 

“Aramis, do you feel that too?” Lemay asked the medic, while stepping aside to make room for Aramis, so that he could have a better look. Athos then felt Aramis’ hand on his chest. Resting a little bit longer over his heart, then he bent down and put his ear on his chest.

 

         The silence made Athos insecure.

 

“What … what’s wrong?” He swallowed hard, starting to grab for air.

 

         Aramis raised his head and smiled at him.

 

“Shhh … Everything is fine, Athos. No worries.” He gave him a reassuring smile. As Athos closed his eyes for a short moment Aramis’ look changed. His eyes full of concern he looked at Lemay.

 

“It’s alright Athos.” The swordsman now heard Lemay. “Your heart is beating slower because of the blood loss and your hypothermia. I think that another coffee potion will help your heart.” Lemay explained. Aramis sighed silently.

 

         Athos opened his eyes again.

 

“Do I really have to ... ?” He wasn’t really happy to taste the bitter medicine again.

“Yes you have and you need to eat at least some hot broth.” Lemay pressed his cold hand.

“And d’Artagnan if you still have your magic somewhere …” He smiled secretly … “You could help warming his body later.”

 

         The Gascon nodded eagerly.

 

“I have to leave you now. Rest, sleep, drink and eat and no wandering around. Your body needs rest!” He emphasised. Then he fetched his brown leather bag and left.

 

_ Funny, I am not strong enough to even turn around on my own. _

 

         Aramis had already switched into doctor mode.

 

“D’Artagnan, can you help me with the coffee. And Porthos can you ask Serge to bring our patient some broth.”

 

         While Athos tried to glare angrily at him, Aramis brought a salve, lifted his shirt and started to cream the rash on his chest. He let his palm rest a little longer on Athos’ chest and the swordsman endured it. Knowing that Aramis had to make sure that really everything was alright. Athos was so focused on Aramis fussing around on and over him that he was  surprised as suddenly to his left side Tréville appeared, sitting down next to his head.

 

“Are you up to talking a bit?” He asked softly with a warm smile on his lips. Athos turned his head in the direction of the Captain.

“Ask your questions.” He demanded with a slightly trembling voice.

“Athos, do you remember who attacked you?” Tréville asked softly.

 

         The Captain recognised that his Lieutenant was closing his eyes again. Suddenly his breathing started to become faster and more unsteady. Aramis who just had finished with checking his chest put his hand on Athos’ right shoulder.

 

“Easy Athos. Breathe more slowly.” Athos listened to Aramis’ soothing voice.

 

         His head was spinning. He tried to remember, he himself wanted to know what had happened, but all he recalled was the loud thud of the nobleman who had collapsed in the throne room and after that everything went dark. The imagined loud sound sent another shiver through his spine and Athos moaned softly as he felt the pain gripping his body.

 

“I … I wish I could … but I can’t … I don’t … I … sorr …” He started to slur again. His head was spinning and screaming for more air.

 

         Aramis shook his head in the direction of the Captain telling him with his eyes.

 

_ “Not now, it’s too early.” _

 

“Calm Athos … it will come back to you. Now drink your medicine, the broth and then rest.” Tréville ordered.

 

_ I shouldn’t have pushed him. He is still too weak, too vulnerable, too confused and even if he will never admit it I am sure he’s in a lot of pain. _

 

         While Athos was waiting for his medicine, Tréville stayed next to him, taking his left hand in his and tried to warm it. His Captain had no intention of leaving  his side and the soft grip on his hand helped Athos to settle his breathing again.

 

         After d’Artagnan and Porthos came back with the coffee and broth they helped Athos to drink both of them. Then Tréville stood up, pressed the hand of his exhausted officer, and gave Aramis and Porthos a sign to follow him outside, Athos had fallen asleep again.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Outside the infirmary_ **

 

“Let’s go into my office. You must be starving by now and we need to talk!” Tréville told Aramis and Porthos. Both men looked tired. “Serge has promised to bring us some food.” Tréville continued, while making his way into the courtyard.

 

         The infirmary was situated next to the stables and Aramis who now felt his own exhaustion and the rumbling of his stomach, that protested aloud, quietly followed his commanding officer, but Porthos didn’t move. With his dark eyes he looked at the now closed door.

 

“I am not hungry, Captain.” He growled. “Can’t we just talk here, I mean outside, we have done that before.” Porthos shouted after Tréville.

 

         The Captain paused, turned around and looked in the concerned face of his streetfighter. Before he could say anything, Aramis stood next to Porthos and laid his hand on his shoulder and tried to convince Porthos to come with them.

 

“Athos is safe. D’Artagnan is with him! And our boy is more than capable of protecting our stubborn Comte, he has proven that today. He has saved …” Aramis stopped and looked down on the floor, the horrible memory of Athos’ lying in his own blood was still troubling him.

 

“It’s not that.” Porthos silently answered. “It’s … I promised Athos not to leave him.” Porthos fought his tears back his voice unsteady and his fingers trembling, he looked away.

“I have failed him today, I have broken my rule … one for all … I wasn’t there in time … to protect him.”

 

         Tréville suddenly realised that the second attack hadn’t hurt only Athos, but his brothers as well. His brave, strong men, dealt with the whole situation differently. While Aramis started to search on his own for O’Sullivan and returned very silently, which was very unusual for the talkative marksman, Porthos started to become overprotective and very emotional.

 

         Athos’ words must have hit him hard.  _ Don’t leave me alone _ . Porthos knew best the meaning of being left alone. After his mother died he had to fight for himself, not knowing who his father was.  _ I had been too late back then.  _ Tréville thought angrily. He made some further steps back to Porthos.

 

“I doubled the guards at the gates earlier and every single Musketeer who has already returned from the palace is on high alert. Athos is safe. Promise.” Tréville tried to calm him.

 

“You came to look for me earlier. So you had to leave him alone and nothing happened.” Aramis tried to assure him.

 

“That was different.” Porthos grumbled. “Athos asked for you and besides I had to follow a direct order. And the Captain stayed with Athos.” He softly explained. “I simply ask if we can  talk here. Isn’t that possible?” He looked angrily at Tréville.

 

“I think it is better for all of us that we rest and eat something.” He explained in a quiet voice. He heard men leaving the mess, laughing, probably about a joke.

 

“Henri, Victor, have you already eaten?” He shouted over to them. Both men came over.

 

“Yes, Captain.” Henri nodded. “How is Athos?”

“He is sleeping for now.” Tréville explained shortly. “I order you to watch that door. No one, I repeat no one is allowed to pass this door without asking me before. Understood?” He ordered.

“Yes, Captain!” Both men said at the same time standing guard immediately.

 

         Aramis cleared his throat.

 

“Captain?”

 

         Tréville needed a second then he understood.

 

“No one, but Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan.” He smiled in Aramis’ direction, who nodded satisfied at him.

 

“Come Porthos!” Tréville ordered. “We really have to discuss our next steps and I doubt that Athos will be happy if he finds out that you are starving because of him.”

 

         Tréville moved nearer to Porthos and with a hand on his back he manoeuvred Porthos further into the courtyard. Reluctantly the streetfighter followed Tréville’s order. He looked a last time at the closed door hoping that Athos wouldn’t think of his leaving as a betrayal.

 

Now after they had settled around Tréville’s big table in his office eating bread and cheese, Tréville started to inform them.

 

“Unfortunately O’Sullivan hasn’t been arrested yet. But I am moreover convinced that O’Sullivan is the perpetrator.” Briefly, he reported what he had found in O’Sullivan’s room.

 

“I spoke to Dr. Lemay before he checked on Athos and he told me that the liquid in the bottle we found is in fact  _ belladonna _ . It is a concentrate of the berry. He explained to me that it is even more dangerous than the pure juice of the berry.”

 

“But he is dealing with these plants.” Aramis intervened, shaking his still hurting head unbelievingly. “This is no evidence that he is really our suspect.”

 

“No,  but I found this.” ´Tréville stood up and showed them the pin and the ring he had found in O’Sullivan’s room.

 

“The ring, it is identical with the pin I found!” Porthos growled. “Aramis look, it has this Janus head on top of it.”

 

“Indeed.” Aramis mumbled silently. “Then I must be wrong.”

 

“What do you mean by then you must be wrong and why do you look like a wet poodle?” Porthos asked his friend.

 

         Aramis sighed deeply and he told them about his encounter with O’Sullivan.

 

“I had him, but my anger made me careless. I lost him again as another person knocked me on my head. O’Sullivan ran and …”

 

“You had him!” Porthos exclaimed angrily.

 

         He was not sure if he wanted to punch Aramis, but as he had a look in his sad eyes full of guilt Porthos decided to leave him alone. Tréville groaned loudly.

 

“Please, tell me, you had him and …”

 

“I know … I failed … I failed you all. I am angry with myself but I spoke to him and to be honest I doubt that he is our suspect. He said that he is innocent.”

 

“Maybe he is a good actor!” Tréville shook his head. “All the evidence is leading to him.”

 

“I know.” Aramis said, looking up. “He even knew that Athos is responsible for the death of Gallagher, Rochefort has told him.”

 

         Silence. Tréville tried to cope with this new information, mouth wide open, catching for breath. Porthos only looked more and more confused.

 

“Milady told me … she … she saved my life this afternoon.”

 

“How?” Tréville and Porthos asked at the same moment and so Aramis told them the rest of the story.

 

“You cannot trust Milady!” Porthos angrily shouted. “Who knows what tricks she is playing with you. Maybe she was the person who knocked you out.”

 

“Or a collaborator of O’Sullivan knocked you out, I think this is even more plausible. He noticed that you wanted to arrest O’Sullivan. It explains why O’Sullivan could leave without being attacked as well, as Milady told you. And the Duke of Savoy I really doubt that he is our perpetrator. I don’t know why he was looking at plants, but maybe he wanted to buy some for his wife.” Tréville paused. His head was swirling. Rochefort had given the information to O’Sullivan and had taken money from him. He should have known that Rochefort had hardly changed over the years.  

 

“A collaborator of O’Sullivan or O’Sullivan himself could have been the person who knifed Athos today. A collaborator would be even more plausible, because Athos saw O’Sullivan in the throne room.” Porthos interrupted Tréville’s thinking.

 

“The theory of a second man maybe fits.” Aramis murmured. “After Athos said that he felt watched by a man I looked around and checked the crowd. I would have recognised O’Sullivan, maybe the collaborator thought I detected him, but I haven’t. Wait there was a man in black leather … but I don’t recall if I have seen him  before.” Aramis said quietly.

 

“Let’s assume O’Sullivan really wants to avenge a brother-in-arms, then he could have another friend with him from his old regiment.” Tréville deduced. 

 

“So does this mean we are looking for two suspects?” Porthos angrily stood up. “I won’t leave Athos alone any longer, as long as neither of them are captured.”

 

“Porthos sit down!” Tréville shouted. Porthos looked surprised at his Captain.

 

“You need rest, both of you! I am sure we will capture O’Sullivan tomorrow. If he’s still demanding money for his goods, then he will stick around longer. Alright, I will tell you what we are going to do. First both of you try to catch some much needed sleep, I need you fit. Tomorrow morning you will speak to Athos, help him to remember. We have to find out what made him leave the palace. Maybe he has remembered something or the Queen said something to him, which made him work out who is behind the attacks against him, I am sure of it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left the palace on his own. He must have received some shocking news.” Tréville stated firmly.

 

“Or he spotted Milady.” Porthos growled. “That woman makes Athos act stupid and emotional.”

 

“Porthos.” Aramis tried to calm his brother. “Captain, I can try to talk to the Queen tomorrow.”

 

“That’s a good idea. Maybe she can tell us more.”

 

“Alright, then we have to team up to arrest O’Sullivan and we will question him. He will confess or enlighten us who is behind the attacks and why. He has the knowledge, the means and a reason to attack him. So rest now, both of you and in three hours send d’Artagnan to bed and switch guards.” Tréville ordered.

 

         After both of his officers left, Tréville leant back in his chair. He closed his eyes. They had to find O’Sullivan and Athos had to remember. The doctor had told him earlier that Athos’ confused state could come from the blood loss and the hypothermia his still weak body had to endure. So he had to be patient and to wait and he had to confront Rochefort who was giving confidential information about his regiment to strangers. This had to stop.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Porthos where are you going?” Aramis asked outside the Captain’s office as he walked straight to the infirmary. “Sleeping? Your room is in the other direction.” Aramis asked curiously.

 

“I can sleep in the infirmary as well.” Porthos shrugged.

 

“You know, you are right. We have blankets there. Wait for me!” 

         The marksman hurried after Porthos.

  
  


**_To be continued ..._ **

  
  



	45. Gascon Magic

⚔⚔

 

         D’Artagnan, sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, hands clasped together and elbows on his knees, observed his friend’s features in the dim light. A few candles had been lit as the bright afternoon gave way to a warm evening. The flickering light was drawing moving shadows on the exhausted face. Athos’ sleep was rather peaceful, but as he drew closer, d’Artagnan noticed the small contractions of the eyelids, the intermittently clenching jaws and the fine tremors running through the whole body. It was a strange sensation of _déjà vu_ to be here, alone with his friend. He didn’t want to experience again the terrible moments they had been through in the past days, he didn’t want to see his strong and steady mentor suffer physically and mentally as he had in these past days. He didn’t deserve such a trial, even if he probably thought that he did. D’Artagnan swallowed to fight the anxiety rising in his throat. He breathed in the strange odour of the room: herbs, alcohol, wood, smoke, clean linen and a faint tinge of iron reminding him of Athos’ blood. Suddenly, Athos gasped and opened his eyes wide. It took him a few seconds to realise where he was and to focus his eyes on the worried face bent over his. D’Artagnan immediately took his hand in his, shuddering as he felt the icy cold skin under his fingers. Athos closed his eyes again with a sigh, turning his head towards the young man. The latter began to rub at the cold skin with his thumbs, massaging the pale knuckles in soft moves. He scanned the room. Athos needed an additional blanket. 

 

_ Two are not sufficient   they are too thin. _

 

There were a few of them, folded on a shelf next to the door. He made to stand up, but the hand in his tightened his grip.

 

“No … lone.” Athos mumbled.

 

         D’Artagnan smiled and resumed his massages. Athos slowly opened his eyes. More red than white around the green irises darkened by the dim light and the pain.

 

“Hey. Sleep, I am here.” D’Artagnan whispered.

 

“‘m … cold … I can’t …”

 

“So, let go of my hand, and I will fetch another blanket. Is it alright?”

 

         Athos nodded, ashamed to feel so weak and dependent.

 

“Take one for … yourself.” Athos whispered.

 

“Athos!” D’Artagnan smiled. “I am not ill or hurt. It’s warm enough in here for me.”

 

Athos quirked an eyebrow in his most leader’s expression, but a sudden shudder made him close his eyes. D’Artagnan hurried with the blankets and came back to the bed. He unfolded the first blanket but stopped as he noticed how Athos tried to curl on himself assaulted by cold and pain.

 

“Athos …? How can I help you?” D’Artagnan almost whimpered.

 

“... don’t know … I … I feel so … useless …”

 

“Hey. How can you say that? You just need time to recover. But you will be as strong as you were before, in a few weeks.”

 

“Weeks?” Athos snorted. “Weeks are too long … I am as strong … as a newborn baby and like a newborn baby, I spend all my time in a bed.” He finished the sentence his teeth chattering.

 

         D’Artagnan wrapped him in the two blankets and rearranged the scarf around his neck, then he stood up and headed to the fireplace.

 

“Wh … what … are you doing?” Athos asked following him with his teary eyes.

 

“Gascon magic.”  

 

“What?”

 

“Wait and see!” D’Artagnan winked at him.

 

“What else could I do?” Athos answered in a bitter tone.

 

When d’Artagnan came back with two big stones wrapped in thick towels, Athos was slumbering, tremors running through his body. The young man gently lifted the blanket and slipped one stone under Athos’ feet and the other under his knees. Athos opened his eyes and blinked.

 

“Still trying to … “

 

“Cook you? Mmmh, let me think … No, you are too old … !” D’Artagnan laughed.

 

         Athos’s upper lip curled slightly and d’Artagnan could see the small sparkle of mischievousness they all loved to see in his eyes. They stayed silent as the young man sat again on the edge of his own mattress, a hand on his friend’s forearm. The tremors subsided a little, the stones slowly working their magic. Athos sighed contentedly.

 

“This scarf …” He began, looking straight into his young friend’s eyes.

 

         Athos stayed quiet again.

 

“You want me to tell you more about it?” D’Artagnan guessed.

 

“If it doesn’t bother you…”

 

         Athos wouldn’t admit that the young man’s voice was a balm to his soul. Oh, how he loathed his current state.  D’Artagnan brought him a cup of water and helped him to drink before lying on his side on his bed, head in his hand, propped up on his elbow. Athos turned his head towards him and tried to roll onto his side too, but a stab of pain burned his back, he squeezed his eyes shut, sucked in a few shallow breaths and opened them again on the sight of the calm and soft expression of his young friend. He smiled encouragingly. D’Artagnan nodded and began.

 

“When I was young …”

 

“Was?” Athos smiled for a short moment.

 

“Younger, when I was younger.” D’Artagnan laughed. “So, when I was a young boy, I was always outside, running in the woods, jumping in fields, rolling down the hills and wading in the streams. If it was alright in summer, it wasn’t a good idea in winter. I always ended up with a cold, throat hurting, head hurting, coughing and nose running like the spring that was behind the farm … as my father said. But it wasn’t enough to keep me in a room with a book. Not in my nature. My mother even threatened me to tie me to a chair.”

 

“I fully concur with this idea. Sometimes … ”

 

“Hey, I am not that child anymore.” D’Artagnan replied falsely outraged. “So, one day, she came back from an errand to Lupiac with a parcel and said: _ “It’s that or you are tied on a chair until March.” _ And I found this scarf. She had made it by a weaver. I hated scarves. But I had no choice.”

 

         D’Artagnan’s eyes shone in the soft light of the fire and candles. His face displayed a tender expression at the memory. He stayed quiet for a while, looking at nothing, or rather looking at this scene of his past. Athos couldn’t avert his gaze from the young face, trying to imagine his friend’s childhood, a world of tenderness, simplicity, love and caring. So far away from his own childhood. As his mind wandered between the cheerful Gascon countryside and a dull mansion in Berry, Athos didn’t notice that his friend watched him with a worried look.

 

“Athos?” He said softly, reaching a hand to squeeze his friend’s forearm.

 

“Sorry.” Athos mumbled.

 

“What for?” D’Artagnan asked.

 

“I was thinking …”

 

“I can see that, but thinking of what?”

 

“My …” Athos began before coughing again.

 

         D’Artagnan stood up again to pour fresh water in the cup.

 

“No … I am fine …” Athos stopped him. “I was thinking of my own childhood.”

 

“And how was it? … Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make you speak. You are tired. You should sl …”

 

“It’s fine. I don’t feel like sleeping for now.” Athos interrupted d’Artagnan and paused, staring into the darkness of the room. “As the heir of the estate, I had to behave like an adult as soon as I reached the age of seven. I had to learn everything, from Latin, to riding, from laws to swords, but playing wasn’t allowed. I had preceptors and governesses. The only times I saw my parents, were during dinners amongst dull guests, with no right to speak, and forced to sat straight and unmoving. I was so young, but old enough to be with them in the dining room and not in the nursery or in another room with the governess.”  

 

         He stopped again as sweat started to shine on his temples. He was clearly in pain, but it seemed that his mind needed this talk, so d’Artagnan didn’t interrupt him. If Aramis knew, he would kill him, but for now, he was in charge of the sick man.

 

“My … brother.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Thomas was a lot younger and was allowed to play and to live like the child he was because as the younger boy he wasn’t the heir of the title. I sometimes envied him … No, I always envied him even though he didn’t see our parents more than me.”

 

“And … the scarf?” D’Artagnan dared to ask, impatient as always.

 

“One day, during a sword training, I fell and my instructor’s blade hurt me, just here, at the base of my neck ... It was a shallow cut one inch long, but too visible ... in my father’s opinion it was a shame ... The Comte’s son wasn’t good at swordfighting!” He snorted. “The irony of it is that he dismissed the instructor at once. It … it was his way of acting. It must seem disconcerting.”  

 

         He stopped, wincing as the pain flared through his back once more.  

 

“You should rest now. Aramis will kill me for making you speak.”

 

Ignoring his friend, Athos continued.

 

“It was a few days before my thirteenth birthday. That morning, my mother came to my bedroom. I was surprised as it was always a servant or a governess who came to wake me up. She sat down on the edge of my mattress. I can still feel her lips on my forehead.” He closed his eyes. “It was so rare …”

 

D’Artagnan didn’t know if his gesture would be welcomed but he laid his hand on his friend’s wrist. Athos nodded gratefully.

 

“She gave me a parcel … Yes, like you … And I found the scarf you have always seen around my neck. Usually, my birthday presents were books, sometimes a weapon. I was surprised and touched to see her give it like that in such an intimate way, in such a motherly way. But her words belied my impression.” He clenched his jaws fighting his emotions.

 

“What happened? What did she say?”

 

“She said:  _ “Here is something to hide your neck.” _ Hide! I had to hide my failure.”

 

“My God. I am sorry. But why … ?” D’Artagnan began.

 

“Why am I so attached to it? Because it was the only present I received that way. One of the rare occasions where my mother had almost been … my mum.”

 

         Athos turned his head on the other side hiding his face to his friend. D’Artagnan arranged the blanket around his shoulders, laid on his own bed and moved his hand to his friend’s forearm, squeezing reassuringly. He heard Athos swallowing his saliva. He just rubbed his thumb back and forth on the cold skin. Footsteps echoed outside.

 

“Close your eyes, Athos. I don’t want Aramis to kill us …” D’Artagnan whispered softly.

 

When Aramis and Porthos entered the room with worried and enquiring looks, d’Artagnan nodded reassuringly. Athos pretended to sleep his eyes closed.

 

“He is sleeping.” D’Artagnan mouthed at Aramis who was approaching the bed.

 

         The medic nodded and smoothed the blanket covering his friend and arranged it to cover d’Artagnan’s body as well. The young man smiled.

 

“I can see that you made your pagan ritual again.” Aramis murmured as he noticed the stone that the young man had left at the foot of the bed after they had cooled. Then turning to Porthos. “What are you doing?”

 

“Making ourselves comfortable for the night.”

 

“Let me help you.” Aramis said standing up.

 

         They brought another small bed next to Athos’. Their “precious cargo” was now surrounded by care and friendship. Aramis sat down on a chair at the head of Athos’ bed, weapons on his knees, to take the first watch and Porthos limping a little as his thigh reminding him of his wound decided that it was time for him to rest. So he wrapped himself in a blanket and lying on his side facing Athos, he closed his eyes with a loud sigh. Soon his friends heard a soft snoring.

 

“That was very quick.” Athos whispered, opening his eyes.

 

D’Artagnan and Aramis smiled at him.

 

“And we are waiting for you to do the same.” Aramis murmured, ruffling his friend’s shaggy hair.

 

         D’Artagnan squeezed his friend’s arm again and closed his eyes. At last he could let go and bask in their brotherhood. For now, all was for the best in the infirmary.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Aramis woke in the middle of the night with a gasp, he had decided to stay awake, but the exhaustion had worked. He tried to straighten his neck but his vertebras made him pay for his awkward posture.

 

_ I am too old to sleep on a chair.     _

 

         He blinked and tried to get rid of the moisture in his eyes to scan the room. What had woken him up? He tightened his grip onto his pistol. Nothing. The room was quiet and the dying flame of the candle didn’t show any sign of danger. He tried to relax and closed his eyes again. Slowly, his mind drifted away caught by darkness and as dreams began to appear behind his closed eyelids, he heard it again and awoke startled. A noise. Faint but real.

 

_ Something is wrong. _

 

         He could hear Porthos’ loud snoring and d’Artagnan’s soft breathing. Silence. An owl was singing its night song. Listening even more closely, he managed to hear the soft whistling of the toads attracted by the water of the well and further, the loud laugh of the tree frogs.

 

_ Nothing, I must have been dreaming.  _

 

         He tried to find a more comfortable position on the hard wooden chair. Even with a pillow and two blankets he could already feel his back hurting. He stretched himself, put his feet back onto Athos’ mattress and closed his eyes again.

 

_ We are perfect bodyguards. We are all exhausted, tired, sleeping. _

 

         He tried to relax. There again. That noise. It was a soft merely audible whimpering.

 

_ Athos. Of course. You stubborn fool, you don’t want to tell or wake any of us, even if you are in pain. _

 

         Aramis jumped to his feet. Fully awake now.

 

“Athos?” He softly asked, reaching with his hand in the dark for Athos’ right hand. “What is it my friend.”

 

         The spare moonlight that fell through one of the windows showed him the silhouette of Athos’ pale face contorted with pain.

 

“Hey, you are awake. What is it? Do you need a pain potion, another pillow?” He softly asked, as Athos slowly opened his eyes.

 

“I didn’t … want to … wake … you …” Athos slurred.

 

         Then he gasped for air and pressed his right hand onto his chest by pulling it away from Aramis soft grip.

 

“God dammit, what is it?” Aramis said, now agitated.

 

“I think … my heart … hates me … it feels like I’m hit by a shoe from a horse. Arghhh …” He squeezed his eyes shut again.

 

         Aramis softly put his palm on Athos’ chest and could feel his irritated heart beat.

 

“Come on, breathe with me, it will be fine again.”

 

         Athos followed Aramis instructions and the pain eased again.

 

“When does it stop?” He anxiously asked Aramis.

 

“You will be fine again. Shhh … try to sleep.”

 

“I can’t … I fear … that it will return again … and …”

 

“Tell you what, I will rest my palm right here. If I feel your heart beating irregular again I will wake you. And now sleep. That’s an order.”

 

         Tiredly Athos closed his eyes. Aramis protectively stood next to him, his hand on his chest. Athos’ heartbeat was regular again. Aramis slowly sat down on his chair, but he rested his palm on Athos’ slowly beating heart. He heard Athos breathe deeper. Satisfied that his brother had fallen back to sleep he decided to remain awake next to him during the whole night.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Saturday 7th of June_ **

 

         Captain Tréville smiled benignly over the sight to behold. Carefully he had opened the door to the infirmary. Outside, the dawn was chased away by a few sun rays announcing a new warm day. Some of the sun’s rays had already made it through the windows of the infirmary throwing a soft light on Athos’ sickbed. The green eyes of his Lieutenant opened as he looked in his direction, as he tried to make no noise closing the old wooden door. A slow smile was flitting over Athos’ face only detectable by the persons who really knew him well, but it only lasted several seconds. Exhausted Athos closed his eyes again, convinced that the newcomer wasn’t an immediate threat for him.

 

         Around him, his three friends were lying. D’Artagnan in the small bed on the left side of his mentor’s bed. His hand laid on Athos’ upper arm to give him some needed comfort. His head was turned towards Athos’ weakened body, eyes closed, he was deep asleep. On the other side, Aramis was sitting on a chair next to Athos’ head. The marksman’s head had drooped onto his chest, his feet propped up on Athos’ mattress and his left hand rested on Athos’ chest in order to make sure that Athos’ heartbeat wouldn’t act weirdly. In his lap he had put one of his pistols, which he was holding with his right hand, ready to shoot any possible enemies. 

 

         And then there was Porthos lying on a bed next to Athos’ feet. He snored loud. It seemed that all three of his men, who wanted so dearly to protect their sick brother were deeply asleep. Slowly Tréville placed one foot after the other. He hoped that the wooden floor wouldn’t make any noise as he stepped next to d’Artagnan’s bed and sat down on a chair next to Athos’s left side. The Gascon still didn’t wake up. A sign of how exhausted he must have been. Athos let his head fall onto his left side.

 

“Don’t wake them, please.” He whispered. “They need their rest. Besides I think they will hate you.” He slightly grinned.

 

“No worries, Athos. I’ll let your watchdogs rest.” With a bright smile Tréville looked over the sleeping men, then he locked eyes with Athos. “How are you this morning? Do you want something to drink?”

 

“Some water … if you don’t mind.” Athos told him barely audible.

 

         Tréville helped his officer to the glass being as quiet as possible, but Porthos loud snoring told him that he could have been much louder.

 

“I doubt that they will hate me, but blame themselves, that they didn’t hear me coming.” He whispered, while pressing the cup into Athos’ hand. Athos slowly drank the water. His hand was shaking slightly but he didn’t ask for help. 

 

_ A good sign. _ Tréville mused.

 

“So …” Tréville started again as Athos gave him the empty cup back.

 

“I am better.” Athos stated firmly, not telling his Captain about the pain in his back.

 

         Lying on his back, even supported by pillows, hurt him nevertheless. But he preferred this position.

 

“I am sorry. I still can’t remember anything after the throne hall. I try again and again. But everything is black, until the moment when I was loaded into the wagon.” Athos sighed frustrated. 

 

“Don’t worry Athos. It will come back I’m sure of it.” He squeezed Athos’ left shoulder.

 

“May I check if you have a fever?” He quietly asked. “The doctor says we have to call him, if you are developing one.

 

         Athos groggily nodded his head and closed his eyes. Tréville softly touched his forehead.

 

“Your skin is warmer than yesterday. That’s a good sign. And no fever.” Tréville told him. Athos could hear relief in his voice. He opened his tired eyes again. Tréville looked into them. They were not shimmering and the pupils were normal again.

 

“Try to catch some more sleep and rest, Athos!” Tréville stood up. “I need to report to the King, but I will be back later.”

 

“I doubt that I can sleep, my watchdog is snoring too loudly.” Athos joked sarcastically.

 

         Tréville suppressed a loud laugh. Athos’ humour had returned.

 

“I can easily change that and wake him.” He stated.

 

“No, please leave them. It feels good to have those watchdogs around.” Athos tiredly said. His eyes started to droop again.

 

“I always wanted to hear that.” Aramis softly mumbled from his chair. He had heard Tréville coming, but decided to pretend to sleep to give both men some time to talk with each other. He put his feet off Athos’ mattress, stood up and stretched his bones. He could still feel the dull pain at the back of his head.

 

“I’ll prepare you another pain potion and some more coffee.” He beamed. “And I will ask Serge for some gruel for you. You need to eat.” Athos let his head roll on the right side and glared for a short moment angrily at Aramis.

 

“I am not hungry.” He told the medic.

 

“But you have to eat.” Aramis smiled back. “I am sorry that I cannot offer you some eggs for breakfast my dear Comte.” He teased Athos.

 

         Tréville moved back to the door. D’Artagnan and Porthos were still sleeping.

 

“Aramis, shall I send Lemay?” He asked.

 

“No, I think for now it’s alright!” Aramis stated firmly.

 

“I really need to go, send d’Artagnan later to me. I will need his help at the palace. But make sure that he had some breakfast first.”

 

“Will do, Captain.” Aramis nodded.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ Their Captain is leaving … now I can try to enter the courtyard again. _

_ I should carry a package, a letter, so that they will think that I am a runner. _

_ Ahh … there is a box … and I like the content of the box as well … _

_ Ha … ha … ha … _

_ First I have to find out if he is still alive … _

 

_ There are two Musketeers standing in front of a door, next to the stables … _

_ This must be the infirmary … _

_ Damn … they wouldn’t guard there if I had been successful … _

_ But the medic … this Aramis … I haven’t seen him leaving … _

_ He will stay with his friend … _

 

_ Oh with the contents in this box … I have an excellent idea … _

_ Oh … I am brilliant … a genious … _

_ I only need a short moment, excellent the stable boy has left … _

_ Now I can go into the stables … there are only horses, a black cat and lot’s of hay … _

_ Perfect … but I have to hurry … I need to be far away … _

 

_ Ha … ha … ha ... _

_ You will rot in hell … both of you ... _

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	46. What can you recall?

⚔⚔

 

“Marie, what is so important, that I have to be awake at that early morning hour?” King Louis complained. He was standing in his white night gown in the throne hall.

 

“My husband and I will leave in an hour and I wanted to thank you for your hospitality.” She smiled warmly at her brother.

 

“You could stay longer … at least you can wait with your departure after lunch, then I could still lie in my bed and dream of this wonderful feast.” He whined. Then he looked down at his bare feet.

 

“Rochefort, I need some socks and shoes. I am sure you can fetch me some.” He ordered a tired looking Rochefort. King Louis smiled and sat down on his throne, while Rochefort slightly bowed his head.

 

“Of course, your Majesty.” The he limped slowly to the door and talked silently with a page.

 

        Louis smiled.

 

“It was such a fun seeing your husband win yesterday, Marie. He is the right husband for you. I expected no less from my brother-in-law. Where is he, Marie?”

 

“He is at the stables. He said he has ordered some goods from some merchants in the streets and he is waiting for the goods to be delivered.”

 

“Oh … He could have asked me. I would have been delighted to help him.” Louis mocked.

 

“Marie, don’t you want to stay a bit longer?” The Queen interrupted her husband. “It is such a joy to have you around.”

 

“I really wish, we would stay longer, I already miss Paris even when I’m  here, but Victor has some urgent state business that cannot wait. We are very grateful for the good trade exchange France and Savoy will have in the future. The contract is better than the Spanish ambassador could offer Victor.” She smiled.   

 

        Louis seemed to be bored.

 

“The Spanish cannot guarantee a French princess the same conditions. It is good that your husband accepted my generous offer. Don’t you think that too, Tréville?” 

 

        King Louis observed the Captain of the Musketeers a little longer. He looked very tired. 

 

_ Well, the old fox isn’t used to my long feasts any longer. But everything went perfect, besides that poor nobleman. _ The King thought.

 

“I agree with you, your Majesty.” Tréville bowed his head.

 

“Tréville what is it? You look tired and exhausted.

 

“Er … I … I need to speak to you in private.” Tréville tried to sort his thoughts.

 

“Oh come on Tréville, now I am curious.”

 

        Before Tréville could answer the door opened again and Rochefort returned together with the Duke of Savoy.

 

“I really think it is the best that I should …”

 

“No, I want to hear it now. We are private enough. It’s only my family and Rochefort. Spit it out.”

 

“I am afraid it is not good news. Er …” Tréville’s hands clenched his hat which he held in them. “The nobleman that died yesterday. We believe … we know that he was poisoned.”

 

“Poisoned?” Louis asked unbelievingly. “You are kidding, Tréville, who would poison the old Comte de Montéant? Except perhaps the Spanish ambassador and his attendants. I remember that he didn’t trust the Spanish at all. He always thought that they would start a war with us. And he always told Anne that she wasn’t the Queen of France. It was ridiculous. Isn’t that right, my dear, he always let you know that he were not welcome. How absurd!” Louis exclaimed. Queen Anne looked uneasy.

 

        Before Tréville could answer the Duke of Savoy shouted out loud.

 

“Incredible, Louis, every time I visit you, you have an assassin lurking around. Come, Marie, it is time for us to leave, the faster the better.” He tried to pull Marie with him.

 

“Calm, Victor! I am sure that Tréville is mistaken.

 

“I am afraid, I am not. And there is more.”

 

“What do you mean, there is more?” Louis angrily asked.

 

“The young court-lady who died several days ago was poisoned with the same substance and …”

 

“No!” Queen Anne shouted loud. Tears appearing in her eyes. “Please tell me that it isn’t true Tréville. She was such a good person. She never said an evil word, never gossiped. Who would have a reason to poison and kill her?”

 

“We are still investigating, your Majesty.” Tréville looked into the pale face and the watery blue eyes of the Queen, who was sitting next to her husband.

 

“Do you have any proof, any suspects?” Louis wanted to know.

 

“We think that this Irish merchant, a former soldier, has something to do with their death and we have another victim.”

 

“Another victim? Who?” The Duke of Savoy asked faster than his brother-in-law.

 

“Athos, my Lieutenant. He was poisoned too. Luckily his body fought the poison. He was already recovering, but yesterday there was a second attempt on his life. He was knifed by a stranger near the palace. He …”

 

“One of my Musketeers was poisoned too?” Angrily Louis stood up. He ignored his bare feet touching the cold floor. “This is not only an attack against your man, but an attack against France and me. Arrest this Irish merchant. I want answers!” Louis shouted angrily. “You should have told me earlier. Maybe this insane man has poisoned me too.” Anxiously Louis walked up and down in front of his throne.

 

“We haven’t found any evidence that you were in any severe danger at any time. Otherwise we would have informed you earlier.” Rochefort answered. “My men are helping the Musketeers to locate and arrest O’Sullivan. This man still wants money for his poisonous plants. I am convinced that he will come back.”

 

“He will get nothing!” Louis shouted. “Arrest him, question him and if he is guilty the death penalty will wait for him. Come Anne. You look shocked I will take you to your quarters.” Louis exclaimed.  

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


        Porthos chuckled as he watched Aramis convincing Athos to eat more gruel. Aramis was sitting on Athos’ mattress, next to his chest, holding a brown bowl under Athos’ chin,  while the swordsman, a spoon in his right hand, tried to turn his head away. His face was still pale, but Porthos couldn’t see any sweat on his forehead. Only red-rimmed eyes that showed an odd contrast to the porcelain white cheeks. They had helped Athos with drinking some more water earlier, but now as Aramis asked his bedridden friend to eat more than five spoons of the gruel, the Comte angrily turned his head in the other direction. Aramis followed Athos’ head with the bowl. He had no intention of letting him go.

 

“Aramis stop feeding me like a baby. I am not hungry!” Athos glared with an annoyed stare at the medic.

 

“You have to eat, Athos. Your body is still weak. You need food to get better.”

 

“I am absolute fine with broth or soup, a slice of bread, cheese, but gruel …”

 

“Gruel is good for you!” Aramis emphasised in a more angry tone. “Besides the doctor said that it helps your stomach so that those hurtful cramps don’t come back.”

 

“Let him be.” 

 

        Porthos softly said, putting a hand on Aramis’ arm. He could see Athos flinching by remembering the horrible stomach cramps he had endured only one day ago. Aramis stood up, taking the bowl away and putting it down with a loud thud on the table. Athos flinched, his ears still didn’t like loud sounds.

 

“Now he is angry.” Athos mumbled to Porthos.

 

“Rubbish! He is just overtired and he wants you to be better.”

 

“I feel much better, besides …” Athos stopped in the middle of his sentence and closed his eyes.

 

“Besides what?” Concerned Aramis stepped next to Athos’ head. “Do you need another pain potion?” He asked softly.

 

        He slowly bend down over Athos’ face. Putting protectively his hand on Athos’ forehead, checking for a fever, but Athos’ skin was just warm, not too hot. Anyway his face was still very pale.

 

“Why … why can’t I remember what happened?” 

 

        Athos’ head was spinning, he blinked tears of frustration away, as he opened his eyes again. Questioningly he looked in Aramis  chocolate brown eyes.

 

“Sometimes our mind plays tricks with us to … to protect us …” Aramis leaned on Athos’ mattress.

 

“But from what?” Athos answered confused, his voice raspy.

 

“We don’t know, but we will find out.” Aramis squeezed Athos’ hand that felt warmer than the day before.

 

“What can you recall?” Porthos asked from the other side.

 

“Until the throne hall … until the nobleman collapsed … after that I … my head hurts …” Athos slurred.

 

        Aramis tried to give Porthos a sign to stop the asking, but Porthos sensed that Athos really needed and wanted to know. He sat down on the chair next to Athos on the left side, which had previously been occupied by Tréville.

 

“Why don’t you start from the beginning, from what you remember from the days before you were poisoned until you were poisoned? He suggested.

 

        Athos turned his head in Porthos’ direction.

 

“Why? I have already told you …?” Athos said frustrated.

 

“Because sometimes it can help to remember other things first and the last time you told us, we had to guess more than we really could understand you.” Porthos put his hand on Athos’ left shoulder, with a much softer voice he continued. “You had trouble concentrating and speaking clearly the day you told us.  Do you remember that?”

 

        Athos nodded. His eyes drifted away, he seemed to be in the distance, somewhere else. Porthos paused. Now he wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea to force Athos to remember those dreadful days his friend had had to endure and was still enduring. He shared a brief look with Aramis.

 

“You helped Tréville with the planning of the trade summit. Maybe you heard or saw something? It could help you to remember.” Aramis spoke softly, pressing Athos’ right hand.

 

        Another shiver went through Athos’ spine and he pressed his lips together to suppress a moan. His back was still hurting him and the healing wound had started to throb. He forced himself to concentrate on something else.

 

_ Maybe talking with them will help me to forget about my pain. _

 

“Very well, I’ll tell you, but you have to tell me who you suspect as well.” Athos pledged.

 

“We will.” Aramis smiled reassuringly, not sure of what he should share and what he should leave out.

 

“Alright then, where shall I start?” The swordsman sighed.

 

“Two weeks before you were poisoned. That must have been the time when the first guest arrived for the trade summit.” Aramis helped.

 

        Athos closed his eyes he tried to concentrate, to think back. Slowly, very slowly some details returned. Porthos looked at Aramis.

 

_ “Are we pushing him too fast?” _ Porthos asked with his eyes.

 

_ “He will tell us, when he wants to stop.” _ Aramis answered in the same way.

 

“The Duke of Savoy …” Athos softly said, his eyes still closed. “He arrived about three or four weeks ago. I don’t remember the exact day, but the Captain will know.”

 

“Did the Duke do something suspicious?” Aramis asked, feeling himself becoming agitated and trying to stay calm.

 

_ Milady suspects the Duke … _

 

“He was in a very bad mood and when he saw me on his arrival, he simply ignored me. He tried to hide the fact that we fought with each other last year. I think I offended his pride with drawing blood from him. Maybe it was too much … I humiliated him in front of the King. And …” Athos gulped and looked for his cup. He reached for it and drank a few sips.

 

“And?” Porthos asked curiously.

 

“He is a good fighter. I saw him yesterday …” Athos paused.

 

        His head started to spin again, the hand in which he was holding the cup started to shake. Aramis reached for it to keep the water from dripping on Athos’ blue scarf.

 

“It’s alright!” He soothed.

 

“ No it isn’t!” Athos growled. “I am dizzy, but I can recall more details from yesterday, from the sword fight. The Duke … he was fencing with Rochefort. He had the upper hand the whole time.” Suddenly a bright smile appeared on Athos’ lips.

 

“Why are you smiling?” Porthos asked bewildered.

 

“Rochefort … he was kicked by the Duke of Savoy, like a dog. I am glad that I could see that.” Athos stated firmly.

 

        He opened his eyes and looked first at Porthos then at Aramis. Porthos laughed out loud.

 

“It’s good to see you smiling! And Rochefort really looked like a beaten dog. Glad you could see that.” Porthos said softly pressing Athos’ left shoulder.

 

        Athos squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“Not too loud Porthos.” Aramis chided. “Think of Athos’ still painful head.”

 

        Nevertheless he couldn’t help but smile too.  

 

“It’s alright.” Athos told him. “I missed your loud laugh, Porthos.”

 

“Well, can you think of any reason why the Duke of Savoy would poison you?” Aramis asked.

 

“Apart from the fact that I humiliated him, no. He sought out to the Spanish ambassador to discuss some important issues with him, but I couldn’t hear what they were talking about. Maybe the Spanish tried to contact him again to make him a better offer for his country, but that wouldn’t explain why he would have poisoned me. Hmm …” Athos thought for a while. “The only reason why he might have poisoned me is that I humiliated him. Do you suspect him, Aramis?” Athos observed his friend hesitatingly.

 

“He could have done it, Athos, humiliating a nobleman can end deadly, never forget that.”

 

“I am a former Comte.” Athos chuckled. “Believe me I know how nobility works.”

 

“Do you recall something else?”

 

        Athos hesitated.

 

_ Should I tell my brothers about Anne and the King. _

_ No, it’s too early. _

_ But they should know that I have seen her. _

 

“Anne … I mean Milady. She is now a respected court-lady.” He laughed bitterly. “But if she really wanted to poison me, she would have let me know in person. I think … we’ve  both … moved on.” Athos was struggling to find the right words.

 

“If you think that it’s not Milady, I trust your judgement” Porthos stated firmly, knowing very well that thinking of his wife still hurts his brother.

 

_ No need to trouble him further, besides Milady has helped us with the investigation and whether I like it or not, the Captain and Aramis are convinced that she is innocent. _

 

        Athos was glad that his two brothers didn’t want to know more about Milady.

 

“Do you recall anything else?” Aramis asked.

 

        Athos was still fighting with his emotions thinking of Anne.

 

_ My God, why can’t I erase her from my mind? She looked more beautiful than ever, even in these woods, dressed in plain old clothes with her wild hair and bright eyes, and then at the palace, dressed in silk and velvet. Why can’t I think of her as the enemy she is. She tried to kill me, she tried to steal my brother, she tried to destroy everything and everyone around me, but I can’t help but be blinded by her beauty, her intelligence and the memory of the days of bliss we shared so many years ago each time my eyes meet her. But she is an enemy, I must think of her as an enemy. Of course, she saved d’Artagnan and the King, but she had her own motivation. Her acts are always part of one of her machiavellian plans. _

 

“What … sorry?” He asked confused.

 

“Anything else suspicious?” Aramis asked softly.

 

“No.” Athos thought back. “Except … Constance … she was very upset?”

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

“I don’t know … maybe she was angry about d’Artagnan …” Athos shook his head. “I am sorry that I cannot help you …” 

 

“Do you want a pain potion?” Aramis asked him, as he noticed another shiver running through Athos’ body.

 

“It’s alright. What else do you want to know?” Athos murmured.

 

“Let’s return to the day that you thought you were followed and the day you were poisoned. You were very weak and confused the last time you told us about it, maybe you can recall something else now.” Aramis encouraged him.

 

“As I left the palace to take my scarf to that dressmaker I felt watched and followed. I turned around but every time I looked behind me, there was no one to be seen. It was raining cats and dogs and twilight had already set in and I wanted to hurry, because I had forgotten something at the palace.” Athos stopped.

 

_ I can’t tell them that I wanted to make sure that Aramis wasn’t hanging around in the Queen’s quarters. _

 

“What had you forgotten?” Porthos wanted to know.

 

        Aramis groaned inwardly, but he didn’t say a word.

 

“I am not sure … I …” Athos hesitated.

 

“You will remember later.” Aramis helped him, their eyes locking for a short moment. “So was it a man or a woman who followed you?” Aramis continued.

 

“From what I could see later as the person rushed away … it must have been a man. Yes, I am sure. His stature was that of a man. He was tall, taller than me and thin, but I couldn’t see a face. I am sorry … The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this was the person who followed me.” Athos shivered. “I should have been more careful. I don’t know why I let my guard down.”

 

_ Anne she made me upset, she made me angry … why couldn’t she stand down … go to England, Spain. Far … far away from me ... _

 

“Nonsense!” Porthos said. “Stop blaming yourself for things you couldn’t prevent. Or see coming!” He tried to calm Athos.

 

“And the day you were poisoned?” Aramis moved on. “Had the seamstress said anything to you?”

 

“No. Her hands were shaking, as she fastened the scarf around my neck, but it was cold outside. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, her expression was both blank and frightened. She even tried to tell me that she didn’t want money for her work, and then I felt the pain in my chest, like a bee sting. I thought an insect was caught under my scarf, so I tried to get rid of it and pounded with my palm on the spot. This drove the pin even further into my flesh, it felt more like a hornet sting then. I tried to stay calm, hurried outside and there I got rid of the scarf and saw a thick pin. I angrily threw it on the pavement. My skin was irritated and I scratched over it from time to time that day and the next.”

 

“There was poison on the scarf too, not only on the pin.” Aramis explained quietly. “So every time you rubbed over the damaged skin, more poison went into your wound.” Aramis groaned.

 

“But who would be so ruthless to kill this poor seamstress in order to kill me?” Athos wanted to know.

 

“We think that the Irish merchant O’Sullivan poisoned you.” Aramis said softly.

 

        He wished he could protect his brother from the guilt he suddenly felt, being in a way responsible for this woman’s death.

 

_ It’s too early to tell him about the nobleman and the court-lady, it will upset him even further. I’ll leave that part out, I hope that Porthos will play along. _

 

“But why? I’d never met him before.”

 

“Because this peacock of a Captain of the Red Guards sold him the information that you were responsible for the death of Gallagher.” Porthos said angrily.

 

“Rochefort? Why?” Athos looked confused.

 

        His head was spinning again. The pain in his back was now more forceful than before.

 

“Because Rochefort is a jerk!” Porthos told him. “I doubt that the Spanish imprisonment  changed him at all. He had the chance to say bad things about you and earn money and he didn’t think twice about it.” He explained.

 

“But why should O’Sullivan try to kill me? I have never met him.”

 

        Another flashback hit him. He’d been standing in the throne room with Aramis on his left side and Porthos on his right. He looked at the man next to Lemay, this O’Sullivan, but he couldn’t recall his face. Athos moaned. Aramis looked concerned at Athos’ pale face.

 

“I think it is enough for now my friend. You need something against the pain and you need more rest.” Aramis told him, squeezing his shoulder.

 

“No, please. I remembered seeing O’Sullivan in the throne room, with both of you by my side, but I couldn’t … I …” Athos caught his breath as his chest suddenly tightened again, he felt his heart palpitating irregularly.

 

_ No not again. _

 

“Mmggnh … make it stop … Aramis … it hurts …” Aramis stood up at once.

 

“What is it my friend?”

 

“My chest, my heart. It is beating so oddly again … what’s happening Aramis?”

 

        Athos’ breathing changed. He opened his mouth trying to catch for breath.

 

“Easy, Athos, easy. Breathe with me. Calm!” Porthos had stood up too.

 

        As his brother struggled for air, he went behind him and lifted his upper body in a more upright position. Softly, he put more pillows to his back and urged Athos to follow his breathing. In the meantime Aramis put his palm on Athos’ chest.

 

“Your heart is beating regularly again, no need to worry, it is the stress. You still need to rest. It’s alright. I will give you some more coffee and another pain potion.”

 

        Athos’ breathing was back to normal again. He softly pressed the hand Aramis had put in his.

 

“I am sorry … I can’t remember anything else. What happened … after the nobleman collapsed? What happened ... to him ... anyway?” He started to slur again.

 

“He didn’t feel well. It was very hot in the throne room.” Porthos hurried to explain.

 

        Athos’ eyes started to droop again. But he still wanted to know what had happened afterwards.

 

“Where … what have I done … next?” He asked his eyes already closed.

 

        Aramis shook his head.

 

_ Not now. _

 

“D’Artagnan was with you, he will tell you later, now rest. You have already helped us a lot.”

 

“I wanna … know … mis …”

 

“Shh … it will come back to you. Sleep now …” Aramis squeezed his hand.

 

        As the sleep pulled Athos further away from them, his grip loosened until his right hand fell back onto the mattress. Aramis stepped away from his still very weak friend and Porthos looked worriedly into his eyes.

 

“His body needs to rest. The blood loss and the hypothermia are still making him very fatigue.”

 

“ His heart?” Porthos asked concerned.

 

“It is fine. I think he agitated himself too much. It was a kind of panic attack. He will be fine.” With a reassuring smile in Porthos’ direction he sat down again next to Athos who softly moaned.

 

“Next time he shows signs of waking I will give him this damn pain potion. I should have persisted on it earlier, even in sickness he can be so stubborn.” Aramis said more to himself than to Porthos as he cautiously watched the rise and fall of Athos’ chest.

 

“I can give it to him later, Aramis.” Porthos told him. “You should go and talk with the Queen. She is the only one who can tell us what she told Athos. If we can tell him then maybe he can remember and tell us why he left.”

 

        Reluctantly the medic stood up.

 

“You are right Porthos. I will check on the guards and then I will be on my way. Take good care of him.” Aramis’ eyes rested on his sleeping friend.

 

“I will, promise!” Porthos told Aramis.

  
**_To be continued ..._ **


	47. Head over heart!

⚔⚔

  
  


        A sea of blue, purple, yellow and red flowers softly moved by a warm summer breeze were decorating the royal gardens. Some bees and butterflies were busy drinking flower’s nectar. An amazing sight, but Aramis was deep in thought as he crossed the palace garden and had no time or concern for the beauty of nature. Birds were tweeting but he didn’t listen to their beautiful songs. There, under a big oak tree on a white park bench, Queen Anne was sitting next to Constance. A little further away, Marguerite was playing with the young Dauphin, humming a lullaby and softly rocking the baby boy.

 

        The medic had to pause and watch the scene that warmed his heart. His little boy. A smile formed on his lips, but it vanished soon again.

 

_ I must be careful! Nobody must know. I’ll tell Athos to be careful at least. _

 

        He moved onwards as he realised that the women had spotted him. He nodded to Marguerite and made his way to the Queen and Constance.

 

“Your Majesty!” Aramis bowed his head. “Constance! May I ask you some questions about yesterday?” He asked quietly. 

 

        Queen Anne looked straight into Aramis’ eyes. She could read him so easily. He looked very tired and sad. Concern was plastered on his forehead. 

 

_ Athos.  _

 

        She concluded.

 

“How can I help the King’s Musketeers?” 

 

        Queen Anne asked formally, well aware that neither Marguerite nor Constance knew about her true feelings for this strong and handsome man in front of her.

 

“You spoke to Athos, yesterday. May I ask what you spoke to him about, because …” He stopped. 

 

_ Does she know about the second attack on him. Yes, she must know. I can see it in her eyes. _

 

“Because what Aramis?” The Queen asked. “Is Athos … is he alright?” 

 

        She tried to suppress a slight tremor in her voice. She hated to see Aramis suffering and he suffered right now.

 

“I have heard that he was poisoned several days ago and attacked with a knife yesterday. How horrible!” She continued.

 

        Aramis felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard.

 

“He is … on his road to recovery, but he can’t remember everything that happened yesterday. I want to help him, that’s why I am reaching out to you.” He softly explained.

 

“Of course? How can I help?” The Queen asked again.

 

“Can you tell me what you told or said to him in the small room next to the throne room?”

 

        Anne closed her eyes, then she looked into Aramis sad brown eyes.

 

“I ordered him to go back to the garrison and rest, I thought he was still recovering from the flu and he looked very pale and unsteady on his feet. I had no idea ...”

“I really appreciate your care and kindness for my friend and comrade.” Aramis answered.

“I hope I don’t sound rude, but may I ask if you discussed anything further?” 

 

        Queen Anne hesitated. Then she looked at Constance. 

 

“Constance, please help Marguerite with taking little Louis back to his room. Marguerite looks tired.” 

 

        Constance understood at once. It wasn’t that she shouldn’t hear what the Queen wanted to say, but moreover that Marguerite would have no chance of hearing what she was going to say next. As both court-ladies left with the Dauphin Anne stayed silent then she looked at Aramis.

 

“You look horrible.” She said firmly.    

 

“I …” Aramis hesitated.

 

“You look like you haven’t slept in days. Tell me how is Athos really? I have heard that he was poisoned with  _ belladonna _ and now he’s been attacked with a knife. Will he …?” 

 

        She hesitated. Last year Athos had saved her life.

 

“It was uncertain for a while, but I am confident that he will recover. Nevertheless he needs plenty of time and rest and …”

 

“I make sure that he will get this rest!” She said to him.

 

“It would help if you could tell me what you told him? He can’t remember and he is frustrated.”

 

“Oh I am so sorry to hear that.” Queen Anne swallowed.

 

“Aramis, I have told him about Ana-Josefa that she died of the flu. I had no idea that she was poisoned too. After that he struggled with his feelings. I know he liked her and she had a crush on him, you know a young woman dreaming of a strong man protecting her …” She paused.  

 

“Did he say something to you?” Aramis wanted to know.

 

“He said that he was sorry, but nothing more, he seemed to be so far away, so lost. I had to leave, but d’Artagnan was then with him. I ordered him to return to the garrison. That’s all.” She finished her report.

 

“Thank you, your Majesty. I appreciate your help.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t really work.

 

“Take good care of him!” Anne told him, as she slowly stood up. “I need to return to the palace.”    

 

        Aramis bowed again. While the Queen was returning to the main stairs that led into the garden, Aramis returned to the stables. He wanted to ride back to the garrison, his head was swirling.

 

_ Is that the information that has upset Athos this much? But why, and why did he leave? Of course he liked the court-lady but why did he start an argument with d’Artagnan and leave on his own? Was it the poison, has it confused him? Maybe the exertion to stay and wait in the throne hall was too much. Maybe he was upset about himself that he showed feelings in front of the Queen? I’ll  have to speak to him and ask him about it. _

 

        Aramis reached the door of the stables as Captain Tréville approached him in a hurry.

 

“Aramis, have you seen d’Artagnan?” Tréville asked loudly.

 

“No. I am sorry. I have sent to the palace this morning as you have ordered it but this must have been two hours ago … at least. Why?” Aramis asked.

 

“Because he never came here. I’ve been waiting for him now for over an hour. I thought maybe you’d decided to let him stay with Athos. I thought that he could maybe calm him better. But now …”

 

“Now we have to find him!” Aramis groaned loudly. “Do you think he is in any danger?” Aramis added concern in his voice.

 

“I don’t know Aramis, but if he isn’t in any kind of trouble, he would be here, wouldn’t he?” Tréville frantically pressed his hat in his hands. “We have to find him.”

 

“I will take some men and ride the possible ways he could have taken from the garrison to the palace. I will ask around, I’ll find him I’m sure.” 

 

        Aramis tried to smile at his Captain, but his smiled didn’t want to come.      

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        D’Artagnan reluctantly followed Tréville’s order. He had wanted to stay with Athos and be there for him.

 

“Go find yourself something for breakfast and then Tréville is expecting you at the palace. Go! Athos is safe with us.” Aramis had urged him, after he had woken.

 

        He remembered the previous night, it had been a special one. Athos had told him about his childhood, his mother and how he grew up as the future Comte de la Fère. D’Artagnan had always thought that this life as a young nobleman would have been much easier than the life of a farm boy who had to work hard, helping with the animals, burning his skin under the sun during harvest, freezing under the rain ploughing the fields in autumn. He hadn’t had a luxurious life and he knew the meaning of famine, the fear when the seeds were rotting after days of rain, the pain in each muscle after a day spent in the fields, but he had experienced the love of his mother and father, who could be strict, but had always cared and protected him. He missed them dearly.

        When he had lost his father, Athos had helped him to mourn. Maybe Athos wasn’t even conscious of his role in d’Artagnan’s life, but as grief had overwhelmed the young man, he had found in Athos’ understanding and gentle eyes an anchor which had kept him from drowning in his own sorrows. Athos had become the  _ father figure _ he missed and making his mentor proud had helped him to overcome his sadness and his despair. Athos had seen something in him, something great and he was proud to teach him to become a better swordsman, a young reliable man and Musketeer. Even if Athos would never admit it, d’Artagnan knew that it had been the Lieutenant who had asked Tréville for a chance for this young man from Gascony to earn his commission.

        The young man was lost in thoughts as he entered the stable. He headed for his stallion’s box. The dark velvet of the animal’s coat shone in the soft light. A lump had formed in d’Artagnan’s throat and he threw his arms around the animal’s neck, breathing in the strong smell of sweat, manure and hay. He stayed like that for a long moment, swallowing convulsively. Then, he sucked in a deep breath and straightened his back. He had just made a decision. He turned around and ran to Porthos’ room. 

 

_ Even if I’m late, I have to do this. I will ask Constance to help me.  _

 

        D’Artagnan opened Porthos’ door and looked around.

 

_ Porthos, where did you put Athos’ poisoned scarf?  _ The young man wondered. 

 

        He checked a small cupboard, the table. Nothing.

 

_ I should ask Porthos. It isn’t right to search his room without asking him first. _

 

        He already wanted to leave, when he spotted Athos’ precious fabric in the furthest corner of the room, next to the window. It was wrapped in another fabric. Even though he was wearing his leather gloves, d’Artagnan made sure that he didn’t touch the scarf but only the old white fabric, probably an old linen, where Porthos had wrapped the scarf. Carefully he picked it up. As he reached the stables again, he put the fabric with it’s still dangerous content in his saddle bag, then he hurried to ride to the palace, but he had no luck. The usual and shortest way he always used was suddenly blocked. People, men, women, children had gathered around a huge wooden item. At first d’Artagnan couldn’t see what it was, then he realised that it was a carriage. He could hear the loud moaning of a man, a woman hysterically screaming and a horse neighing, screaming in pain and mortal fear .  The sound was horrible to listen to. The bystanders only stood there and stared , no one seemed to help. D’Artagnan couldn’t simply turn around and take another route, he had to help.

 

“Out of the way!” He shouted dismounting and making his way through the gathered people. 

 

        He could sense elbows hitting his ribs, but he ignored it. He pushed further and further until he was standing only a few feet away from the toppled carriage. He gasped out loud when he saw the picture presented to him. A man was lying under the black carriage. He was trapped. Only his upper body and head were free, the rest of his body was hidden under the heavy wood. Inside the carriage a woman was crying hysterically. The man was about fifty years old, grey hair, he looked like the coachman. He had a laceration on his left temple and from time to time he moaned, he seemed to be in shock. 

 

“Help … I can’t move …” He murmured, as d’Artagnan knelt next to him.

 

“Stay calm, Monsieur!” Then he looked around. He needed help.  

 

“Madame, can you tell me if you are hurt?” D’Artagnan stood up and tried to look into the interior of the carriage. The only answer he received was a loud sobbing.

 

        D’Artagnan could hear Athos’ voice.

 

_ You have to measure a dangerous situation very quickly. If people are in danger, you have to figure out how many. Then you have to ask yourself, what you need to help them. And remember, always use your head first.  _

 

        He looked around. First, they needed to help the woman out of the carriage, then he needed the help of strong men, maybe with a large wooden stick to free the poor coachman and then he had to take care of one of the two horses. The poor animal was still lying on the ground, it probably had a broken leg. The screams coming from the beautiful white stallion were heartbreaking.

 

        It took him over an hour to help, with other men and women, the young countess to climb out of the carriage and then to lift the carriage enough to free the poor man. He would need a doctor and d’Artagnan wasn’t sure if a doctor could save him. In the meantime he had to do what he hated doing, but the poor animal was suffocating. He was already about to draw his pistol, but the big dark eyes wouldn’t stop watching him, so he moved nearer to the horse and examined the leg. As a former farmer he knew how to deal with injuries and he suddenly had hope that they could save it, so he ordered some children who were standing around to fetch Jacques. He could take care of the stallion. After all this was arranged and a doctor had arrived, d’Artagnan continued his way to the palace.

 

_ Tréville won’t be happy to see me like this. _

 

        His shirt was dirty and his face sweaty, but he couldn’t have left the accident like that. He had almost reached the palace when he spotted a well known figure near to the gates, next to the entrance on the bank of the  _ Seine _ .

 

_ I don’t believe this. That’s O’Sullivan, what is he doing? Wait, he is speaking to one of the men of the Spanish ambassador. I saw this man when we freed Porthos, he left before the house exploded. _

 

        D’Artagnan tried to hide behind a row of pillars. 

 

_ Maybe I can hear what they are talking about, but I shouldn’t give them too much time. I have to arrest him. He shouldn’t have the chance to flee a second time. _

 

        D’Artagnan noticed how angry he suddenly felt. He’d only felt that way once before and that was when masked bandits had murdered his father. He felt sweat on his hands, his breathing grew stronger and he had to tell himself over and over again:

 

_ Head over heart _ ,  _ otherwise I will not be able to arrest him, I have time to question him later.  _

 

        O’Sullivan was standing with his back against the palace wall. D’Artagnan couldn’t see his face, but he recognised his voice, alas he didn’t understand a word. O’Sullivan was talking in a foreign language, but it wasn’t Spanish, he would have understood some words.

 

_ Damn, I can’t understand anything. Oh, the Spaniard is leaving, now I have my chance. _

 

        D’Artagnan stepped away from a pillar and he drew his sword. With a few fast steps he stood directly behind O’Sullivan who irritatingly turned around.

 

“What …” He asked perplexed, staring with eyes wide open at d’Artagnan’s sword.

 

“In the name of the King I arrest you!” D’Artagnan shouted.

 

“Ha … ha … ha …!” O’Sullivan laughed out loud. “Musketeers are a very funny regiment. First they send their medic and womanizer and now their youngest recruit to arrest me.”

 

“You better follow me?” D’Artagnan said with a cold voice. His eyes were sparkling dangerously .

 

“I won’t do that!” O’Sullivan stated firmly. He made some steps backwards, drawing his own sword. “You want to be a Musketeer, then you have to learn at first how to fight!” He grinned dangerously.

 

“I am a Musketeer!” D’Artagnan hadn’t the chance to say anything else, because O’Sullivan started a first hard attack on him.

 

_ I really have to admit he is a good fighter. Head over heart. You can do this! I will do it for you Athos. I will arrest this bastard.  _

 

        Dangerously, the two men started to circle each other. Other men and women who had watched them hurried away as their blades crossed with loud clangs.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	48. Just a Feeling

“Drink!” Porthos pressed the cup with the pain potion into Athos’ right hand.

 

“It tastes vile, I would prefer some wine instead.” Athos tried to joke.

 

“Ha … I guess you would prefer ale or wine, but pain potion it is for you today. You should stop refusing to take it. It helped me …” Porthos muttered.

 

        During the last hour Porthos had had to listen to Athos’ moaning while he was sleeping and he was concerned how he could make Athos more comfortable. He had looked for further soft pillows and had taken the pillows from under his back away, so that he could lie in a more even position and he patiently waited for another sign that his brother would wake up. Now he had crossed his arms in front of his chest and urged Athos to follow his order. Reluctantly Athos took several gulps.

 

“How is your thigh Porthos? How are you? I’m sorry that I haven’t asked earlier.” Athos gave him the empty cup back.

 

        Porthos turned around and took it to the table at the other side of the room, opposite to Athos’ bed.

 

“My leg has healed.” Porthos returned to Athos’ bedside on the chair to his right side. 

 

“And I am better now that I know that you are on the road to recovery.” He smiled at Athos. 

 

        The swordsman could see Porthos’ sad eyes.

 

“Tell me … you have been there for me all these past days … you helped me through the horrible hours of pain, tears and weakness … now it’s time for me to listen to you. At least I have time. I can’t go anywhere …” Athos tried to break the ice.

 

“It’s nothing, Athos. You should rest.”

 

“I will as soon as you tell me what’s bothering you.”

 

        Porthos knew that Athos wouldn’t stop asking.

 

“I’m not sure … this man … this friend of Tréville, who died several weeks ago …”

 

“Yes?” Athos asked softly.

 

“He … he left me a legacy. Why only me … why not all of us who tried to save him …? I had the impression that he knew me or my name … what if he knew something about my father?”

 

“Maybe you can ask Captain Tréville about the legacy. They were friends, comrades, brothers, like we are. I’m sure that he can answer your question.”

 

“I’ve tried before.” 

 

        Porthos mumbled more to himself than to Athos. He suddenly felt Athos’ hand on his thigh, pressing it.

 

“Try it again. You know that he is very busy right now with the trade summit, with this scheming Rochefort, with worrying about me … What reason should he have to refuse to answer  your question?” Athos looked in Porthos brown eyes.

 

“I don’t know … it’s just a feeling.” Porthos shrugged.

 

“Talk to him, if he has no answer, I’ll help you I promise.” Athos yawned. 

 

        The pain potion had made him tired again. Porthos wanted to answer something, but Athos had already fallen asleep again. A more peaceful sleep this time.

 

_ Thank you Athos. That felt good.     _

 

        Porthos decided to rest on the small bed next to Athos. With his head in the direction of the door, his pistol in his hand, ready to shoot, he settled himself on the soft mattress. But he couldn’t think of sleeping. His head was swirling. 

 

_ Who is the person who has tried to kill you? O’Sullivan or the Duke? Will he try another attack? And will I be ever able to find out who my father is? _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Clashing noise was the first thing Aramis and two other Musketeers recognised as they left the palace gate in order to search for d’Artagnan.

 

“What’s that noise?” Robert asked.

 

“Someone is fighting over there!” Aramis replied. “Let’s have a look. Duels are not allowed.”

 

        As they drew nearer to the place where the loud noise was coming from, they stopped and stared for a while. Before their amazed eyes, O’Sullivan tried to strike with his sword at d’Artagnan, swearing loudly, because the young Gascon was a skilled swordsman. He hadn’t expected that. This young boy had looked too weak, too inexperienced and now he had to watch every step and each of his movements in order not to fall down or being hit by d’Artagnan’s main gauche that the young man had now in his hand too.

 

“We can end this the easy way or the hard way!” D’Artagnan shouted, anger in his voice. “Lay your weapon down!”

 

“Never! I am a soldier as you are!” O’Sullivan shouted back at him. 

 

        He tried another attack, which d’Artagnan parried easily. As the Irishman stumbled backwards d’Artagnan took his chance with a fast attack with his own sword and hit O’Sullivan’s sword hard. His thwack was so ferocious that O’Sullivan couldn’t hold his sword any longer and with a clanging noise it fell down on the dirty ground.

 

“Surrender now, Monsieur!” D’Artagnan said in a cool, but dangerous tone. His sword tip on O’Sullivan’s neck d’Artagnan took further steps towards him.

 

“You have no idea with whom you are dealing with, boy.” O’Sullivan groaned angrily.

 

“Then it’s about time you find it out!” Aramis said with an angry voice. “You won’t escape me a second time?”

 

“Oh, you again! I’m dearly sorry that I didn’t help you yesterday, but I had urgent business to attend to.” O’Sullivan mocked, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

 

“I can’t wait to hear about that!” Aramis ignored his stare. “Robert, Claude, search him for weapons and then bring him to Tréville, we will follow shortly.” Aramis ordered.

 

        While the other two Musketeers arrested O’Sullivan, taking care of his weapons and dragging him to the palace gate - O’Sullivan made no effort to walk - Aramis looked curiously at d’Artagnan.

 

“Are you alright?” 

 

“Now, I am!” A bright smile appeared on his lips. “It was pure chance that I spotted him here.”

 

“Come let’s go to Tréville then and question this son of a bitch. I want answers.” Aramis ordered. 

 

        With his right palm he clapped the young Gascon approvingly on his shoulder. They both took the reins of their horses and walked back to the stables. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Let me go! You have no right to detain me!” O’Sullivan shouted angrily. 

 

        The two Musketeers had restrained O’Sullivan’s hands with a white rope and now pushed him into a small room. The Irishman angrily tried to get rid of the bonds by wrenching his wrists.

 

“Untie me!” He shouted much louder as Captain Tréville entered the room, followed by d’Artagnan and Aramis.

 

“Dismiss! And report to the King!” He ordered both his Musketeers, who had arrested the Irish soldier. “Stop struggling, you will only hurt your wrists, they will get bloody and torn. You should save your energy.” Tréville said coldly.

 

        In his voice there wasn’t any sign of empathy. His pale blue irises eyed up the prisoner in front of him. O’Sullivan wore a black shirt, that was sliced at the right sleeve, probably where d’Artagnan’s sword had hit him. His black leather trousers had obviously seen better days and around his neck hung a gold pendant representing the profile of a man, an axe in his right hand and a branch in his left, reminding all too well of the ring and the pin. The edge of the jewel represented a snake biting it’s tail.

 

_ Another hint? _

 

“Why did you arrest me?” O’Sullivan shouted angrily. “You have no right … I want to talk to the King!”

 

“The King himself ordered your arrest after he heard about your dreadful deeds, the last thing he will do is to grant you an audience.” Tréville stated firmly. 

 

        O’Sullivan was sitting on a chair where the two Musketeers had placed him earlier. Slowly, Tréville fetched one for himself and sat directly opposite to their prisoner. D’Artagnan and Aramis continued to stand. The Gascon leant on the now closed door, while Aramis took a few steps further in the direction of O’Sullivan. With his intelligent brown eyes he started to scan his face. Now was the time to find out if this man had really poisoned Athos and killed the seamstress, the court-lady and the nobleman. 

 

“Stop staring at me like that, I am not interested in men!” 

 

        O’Sullivan glared angrily at Aramis, who ignored the provocation. The  medic turned to Tréville.

 

“Captain, he is all yours!” Aramis smiled sheepishly, while he tried to sort his emotions out.

 

“Alright Monsieur O’Sullivan, why did you come to Paris? What were your true intentions when you appeared for the first time at court?” Tréville asked in a neutral tone.

 

“ I am a merchant, I am dealing with plants that can heal wounds, colds, heart problems.” 

 

“Stop wasting my precious time!” Tréville growled. “I want to hear about your true intentions, now!” The last words were shouted loudly in his usual ordering tone. 

 

        D’Artagnan knew this tone well enough. The Captain always used it on him and his brothers when they started an unnecessary fight with the red guards. 

 

“Why are you so angry, Captain Tréville?” 

 

        O’Sullivan suddenly mocked him. His intelligent eyes stared at the Captain of the Musketeers coolly, in a superior manner. Tréville tried to stay calm, easier said than done with three persons dead and his own Lieutenant severely ill.

 

“As a medic myself I can tell you that you are not a medic as you are telling everywhere, and dealing with those plants is only an excuse.” Aramis stated, reaching behind his back and drawing his main gauche. Absent-mindedly, he started to play with it. “If I were you, I would start talking.” 

 

        Aramis drew nearer to O’Sullivan until he stood in front of him close enough from the man’s face to see the tiny freckles dusting his skin under his eyes, the top of his blade now pointing at O’Sullivan’s nose. Slowly, Aramis bowed his head.

 

“I could easily mark your beautiful face.” He laughed out loud. 

 

        D’Artagnan pushed himself away from the door frame.

 

“Aramis, stop that!” He shouted anxiously. “You don’t know what you are doing. Captain, stop him!” But Tréville  had no intention of say anything or of pulling Aramis back. 

 

        The marksman played with the knife in front of O’Sullivan’s face, with an evil grin on his lips, while O’Sullivan’s eyes followed the blade from the right to the left and the left to the right.

 

“Call your soldier back!” He angrily shouted.

 

        Tréville ignored him.

 

“Start talking!” Aramis ordered. “Why are you here?”

 

“Stop this and I will tell you!” O’Sullivan shouted angrily at Aramis who paused.

 

_ Hmm, that is very quick, maybe too quick. I don’t trust this rogue. I am glad that d’Artagnan is playing along. He is the good gentleman, I, the naughty man, but if he really did this to Athos, he will pay for it.  _ Aramis thought. 

 

“Alright, tell us, now! Your last chance!” Tréville ordered.

 

“I came here to find out about the whereabouts of a friend of mine.” O’Sullivan said quietly. “His wife asked me to find out what has happened to him.” The Irishman paused.

 

“And?” D’Artagnan asked.

 

“And nothing, I couldn’t find him, but I really am a merchant, dealing with plants.” He smirked.

 

_ He is still playing with us. This man is smart. I have to be careful what I reveal to him and what I keep for now. Good, Aramis and d’Artagnan are playing along. Honestly I don’t know what Aramis will do with his blade, if O’Sullivan confesses right now.  _ Tréville said to himself.

 

“What’s the name of your friend? And why are you looking for answers here, at the palace?” Tréville asked.

 

“As if you didn’t know!” The Irishman said half laughing. “It was your Lieutenant who killed him.” O’Sullivan now stated angrily. 

 

“What makes you think that and you still haven’t answered my question?” Tréville digged deeper.

 

“Come on, I can see it on the face of the boy, that you already know about it.” O’Sullivan tried to evade the question.

 

        D’Artagnan looked a bit puzzled. 

 

“The boy, as you call him, just beat you in a sword fight.” Aramis told him, while d’Artagnan was thinking what he should say. One gaze from the Captain told him to stay quiet.

 

“So, you are asserting that my friend Athos killed your friend? What’s his name?” Aramis asked dangerously and then added “Is this the reason why you tried to poison him and when that didn’t work you tried to kill him again with a knife?” Aramis asked dangerously.

 

“And in your hatred against my Musketeer, you not only poisoned him, but three other people, a dressmaker, a court-lady and a nobleman?” Tréville now stood towering over O’Sullivan who could hear the ire in the Captain’s voice.

 

“I haven’t done any of these deeds!” The Irishman shouted. “Now let me loose!” He demanded. “Are you crazy? Why would I do this?” James O’Sullivan looked into Tréville’s eyes. A cold gaze.

 

“Tell me. The name of your friend?”

 

“Gallagher, but I have nothing to do with your Lieutenant. I even tried to help.” He shouted now.   

 

“D’Artagnan, don’t you think that what he is saying sounds strange? First he accuses Athos of killing his friend, he is looking for him and then he says he has nothing to do with his poisoning and injury.” 

 

        Aramis said to the young Gascon. He then reached for his blade, slowly bent down, and after a theatrical and frightening pause, he cut the bonds behind O’Sullivan’s back.

 

“Prove to us, that you have nothing to do with the murderer and the attempted murder. Maybe you gave your plants to someone, maybe you shared your knowledge with someone? Maybe you hired someone? Tell us!” Aramis said with an encouraging voice.

 

        The Irishman massaged his wrists.

 

“I have nothing to say to you, only that I am innocent.” The Irishman looked into the distance. “I came here to find out what had happened to my brother-in-arms. I am a soldier and I know Athos acted as a soldier, following orders, I can’t blame him. I was looking for the truth and a woman who engaged Gallagher and his men to kill your Queen. She is the person I am trying to find, I want to question her.” Gallagher stated firmly.

 

        Tréville groaned inwardly. 

 

_ He is talking about Milady. He is looking for her. Shall I believe him? I don’t trust this ice-cold bastard. He is a sadist, he likes seeing people suffer. _

 

“You claim you came here to find out more about your friend Gallagher. If this is all true, why didn’t you come to me? Why did you help our doctor? I find it hard to believe that you are innocent. You came into our garrison, went straight into Athos’ room and you tried to give him laudanum, a dangerous medicine which could have killed him.” Tréville thundered. 

 

        O’Sullivan was standing now, as Tréville came nearer and nearer, their eyes locked:

 

“I have enough evidence to make a case against you. If you want to live, if you want to survive, you should start telling us the truth!” Tréville said now in a snarling, quiet tone.

 

        O’Sullivan could see why Tréville was the Captain of the Musketeers. A soldier through and through, an intelligent, caring man, although a dangerous leader.

 

“I was always good at treating people …” O’Sullivan slumped down onto his chair again. 

 

        Aramis snorted loudly, but he stayed silent. 

 

“That’s why I offered my help. I don’t know who has poisoned your Lieutenant but I am not a murderer. You are accusing me of such a horrible crime. I don’t know the other people you have mentioned. I have never seen them …” O’Sullivan slowly explained.

 

“You offered your help with the poisoned court-lady, a cousin of Queen Anne, and even though she was in severe pain and asked for help you refused her a pain potion or to fetch the doctor.” Aramis explained. “Stop lying to us …” 

 

        Aramis wanted to finish his sentence, but the door was opened and one of his Musketeers was standing in front of them, gasping for air. Tréville turned around seeing the horror in the face of his man. 

 

“Henri, what is it?”  

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	49. Let me go

⚔⚔

 

**_Infirmary_ **

 

_ Sour and bitter. _

_ A sour taste in my mouth. _

_ Nausea. _

_ A nausea rising in my throat. _

_ Slumped in a corner of the room, I am waiting. _

_ Waiting for what? Waiting for who? _

_ A bottle. Bottles. Shattered glass. _

 

_ Sour and acrid. _

_ The odour in my nostrils. _

_ Sweat and wine. _

_ Dust and smoke. _

_ Smoke? _

 

_ I am waiting for her. _

_ Who is she? _

 

_ Red claws breaking the windows. _

_ Orange jaws eating the heavy curtains. _

_ Yellow fingers tearing up the wallpaper. _

 

_ I can see her. Who is she? _

_ Is that you? _

_ Anne? Anne!!! _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Porthos lifted his head and looked up at the infirmary’s ceiling following with his tired eyes the whitewashed beams. He blinked as he felt tears welling up behind his eyelids. He hated this silence, this loneliness, he hated this room. He felt a slight itching in his nostrils and blinked again. Wiping at his face with his shirtsleeve, he closed his eyes. His limbs felt so heavy. He swallowed his saliva which felt thick in his painful throat.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ Darkness is surrounding me. My thigh throbs. The pain is unbearable. I am so alone. Aramis, Athos, d’Artagnan … where are you? … I could use your help right now. _

_ Chaos on the market place … a dead merchant … a woman lying in her own blood … _

_ Spanish soldiers everywhere … it was a trap … we should have never … _

_ I am alone … why have I difficulties in breathing … what’s that smell? _

 

_ Samara … stop trying to pull the bolt out … _

_ Wait … that’s not real … _

_ Something is wrong … I hear a loud noise, shouts, a bell … _

_ Where am I? _

_ No … no … no! _

 

         With a loud scream Porthos opened his eyes. Confused, he blinked around. Something was not right. Had he heard Athos screaming? Had he heard him shouting for Anne? All his hurting eyes could see was grey and white smoke. He could smell the fire, could feel the heat, could hear the bursting of wood. Fire everywhere.

 

“Athos!” 

 

         Porthos jumped from the bed, ignoring his pistol which fell with a loud thud onto the wooden floor. Next to him he could see his sleeping friend. It was hard to see him through the white and grey cloud. More sounds, more shouts. The door of the infirmary burst with a loud explosion. More fire was lurking its way into the room. They had to get out of here, soon. Absent-mindedly he put up his pistol, pushed it in his belt, then he shouted at Athos:

 

“Athos, wake up. There is a fire. We have to get out of here.”

 

“Mmmh … Anne?” Was the only answer Porthos received.

 

“Not really, my friend! Wake up, now!” Porthos shouted.

 

_ My house, my estate, my bed, all those furnitures and paintings are burning. Burning down. Everything gone in a blink … _

_ I can’t breathe … I can’t see my own hands … my feet … I am stumbling …   _

 

“That’s it, Athos, open your eyes! … What are you doing with your hands?”

 

_ Who is grabbing me, pulling me back on my feet? D’Artagnan … you … you have to … leave. Run … run as fast as you can … away from me … I only bring pain, disaster, death … run and don’t look back. You need to live … I can … _

 

“D’Artagnan?” Athos mumbled. “Wh … ? Let … me … g …”

 

“Oh, no, I won’t let you go!” Porthos sounded now like an angry bear.

 

_ Dammit Athos! Wake up! Open your eyes! Why can’t you wake up? It must be the smoke. _

 

“Athos! Wake up.” Porthos shouted angrily.

 

“Noooo … Please … d’Artagnan …”

 

“Open your eyes, you stubborn mule. I am not d’Artagnan and if you want to see him again, you must move, NOW!”

 

“No … mmmh … I want …”

 

“Oh no you don’t! Alright, don’t complain!”

 

         Porthos grabbed the jug of water on the nightstand and poured the whole content over Athos’ head.

 

“Wh …!” Athos gasped. “I am … dro …”

 

“Yes, that’s it. Drowning or burning. Take your pick!”

 

“I …”

 

“Third choice: escaping this burning room!”

 

         A heavy beam crushed next to Athos’ head. A blossom of bright sparks blinded him for a short moment, he closed his eyes against them and against the growing heat. The fire was everywhere ready to jump over onto the sheets and blankets of Athos’ bed, Porthos had had enough. With a loud howl the strong man grabbed his brother under his armpits and pulled him onto his chest.

 

“If you don’t wake up … I have to carry you out!”

 

“Let … me … go … os!”

 

“Ah, yes, I am Porthos, good to know that you know me! Now can you help me?”

 

“I … c ….”

 

“Yes you can, Athos! Please!”

 

         Athos was heavy, thin but heavy. Porthos should have known that. He had had to carry him so many times in the past days, but the smoke made him confused and numb. Another loud crash at his back made him jump. He had to hurry so he bent down and put a hand under Athos’ knees, the other under his shoulders.

 

“Wha ….?” Athos breathed.

 

“Be quiet!” Porthos grumbled.

 

“But …”

 

“No buts, Athos, if you don’t want to walk, I’ll carry you!”

 

         Another beam crushed onto the floor in front of the door in an explosion of bright orange and blue sparks. Porthos jumped backwards. He coughed and blinked, trying to see through the thick swirls of smoke.

 

“Dammit!” He growled angrily.

 

“Let me go … Porthos … Let me go. Leave me here and go …”

 

“Do you want d’Artagnan and Aramis to kill me as soon as I am outside? And Tréville will take me back from hell to kill me again!” He coughed again as a thick cloud of dark smoke entered his burning lungs. “No way, I’ll leave you alone! No way!” He shouted, voice rough.

 

         Suddenly they heard someone shouting. Michel was on the threshold.

 

“Porthos, Athos … there is fire everywhere. The stable is burning. Are you alright? I can’t come to you? I will … fetch help … we will try to get water …”

 

_ I would never guess that there is fire. What took Michel so long? _ Porthos thought.

 

“We can’t wait that long!” Porthos shouted through the thick greyish smoke.

 

         He reached with his left hand behind him for another blanket. Then he put it over the still confused head of his friend. He had no time to do the same for himself. He felt the heavy weight of Athos. His head was lolling on his chest. Athos coughed and panted for air.

 

“Why …?” Athos slurred confused, trying to figure out why his vision was taken away.

 

         Porthos didn’t know how, but he managed to grip Athos tighter. Like the day he had carried him to the bathroom, he softly lifted Athos to have a better hold on him, ignoring his protesting thigh. With his precious bundle in his arms he stumbled forward to the place where the door had once been.

 

_ Aramis will hate me. _

 

         He looked into the orange, yellow flames, but there was no other way out.

 

_ I have to wait and then jump. _

 

“Michel, you have to help me!” He shouted. “As soon as I am out of the door …” He had to cough. “ …  out of the flames you have to help me carry Athos. He can’t walk by himself right now.”

 

“Let … me …” Athos tried to say.

 

         Another cough hit his lungs and left him breathless. Porthos felt the heat coming nearer and nearer.

 

“Hang in there! Do you hear me … I’m bringing you out of here!” Porthos spoke into Athos’ ear.

 

“Porthos! Pierre is next to me. We will help you. We will carry Athos as soon as you are out of there. Hurry!”

 

_ Hurry! Michel is funny! _

 

         He took a few steps backwards, remembering the way he used to jump from a roof to another when he was a child, each time he had to escape something or someone, if one of his card tricks hadn’t worked properly. Holding his breath, closing his eyes, pulling Athos’ head furthermore against his chest he ran and jumped.

 

         Athos stayed calm in his arms, hands clutching at every piece of fabric of his friend’s clothes he could reach, sensing the immediate danger, Porthos’ angst and hearing his brother’s fast heartbeat. He wished he could help, but he was too weak. The smoke that had entered his lungs made it hard for him to breathe. Slowly, very slowly, he realised what was happening around him. A burning infirmary, crashing beams, fire everywhere. He couldn’t see anything because of the blanket over his head.

 

As realisation hit him he struggled in Porthos’ arms until he felt the strong muscles tightening around him. He was in safe hands, but he should have helped. He trusted Porthos so he decided not to move and accepted being carried like a baby. It was the only way he could save Porthos and thus himself.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Good grief, Henri? What is it? You look like you have seen a ghost!” Tréville commented.

 

“Captain, I am sorry … I had to disturb …” Henri gathered himself, still catching for air.

 

“Spit it out!” Tréville ordered impatiently.

 

“A boy … a young boy just came to us … he said that there is a fire at the garrison, the stables …” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

 

“Fire? How? Why?”, concerned, Tréville looked at Henri, Aramis and d’Artagnan.

 

“What!” Aramis shouted unbelievingly. “Is anybody hurt?” He added.

 

“I don’t know, but I can see smoke, thick dark grey and black smoke coming from the direction of our garrison …”

 

         Tréville was now catching his own breath. His mouth wide opened, he realised that another attack must have happened.

 

_ My goodness, a fire. This cannot be a coincidence. Another attack against Athos … but Athos is safe … Porthos is with him. He must be safe! Calm! You don’t help yourself if you don’t control your emotions. My men need me as their Captain now! _

 

         Tréville wanted to say something when a knock at the door made them all turn their heads. Rochefort’s head peeked through the door.

 

“Captain, I have heard the good news.” He paused as he noticed the horrified looks of the Musketeers and a bright grinning O’Sullivan.

 

“Wait, what’s wrong?” He asked curiously?

 

_ Will you leave me alone, Rochefort! I wish I could shut you up with my fist! _

 

         Tréville clenched his fists, almost feeling Rochefort’s nose under his knuckles. His heart was trying to escape his chest, minutes were so precious. He didn’t need this fawning Comte to slow him down.

 

_ I need to go. I need to know. I need to be sure that Athos is alright, that everyone is alright! _

 

He felt cold sweat running down his back, making his shirt cling to his skin. He had to end this conversation, now. A little dizzy because of the foreboding which was suffocating him, he breathed in deeply before squaring his shoulders and adding in his most Captain’s voice:

 

“There seems to be a fire at the garrison. I … we need to leave. Rochefort, lock this gentleman in his room.” The Captain of the Musketeers pointed with his finger at O’Sullivan, “I will return as soon as possible. We have started with the interrogation, so it makes sense that we will continue it later.”

 

“Sure!” Rochefort bowed his head. “I will see to it that his door is guarded by my men!” He went over to O’Sullivan. “Get up, you traitor!” He shouted at him and kicked at his right leg. “I have no time for games. So move or you will feel the tip of my sword.” Rochefort added dangerously.

 

         Slowly O’Sullivan followed Rochefort’s order.

 

“Captain, I prefer your medic!” He mocked.

 

         Tréville ignored him he was already standing at the door, ready to leave.

 

“Come!” He signalled his men, as Aramis wanted to say something. “Our priority is the safety of our garrison!” He ordered harshly pulling his medic backwards.

 

         D’Artagnan followed his direct order while stepping next to him at the door out of the room.

 

_ Please, let Athos be alright. Please!  _ D’Artagnan started to pray. _ I don’t want to lose him, or Porthos or any other of our comrades. I hope this boy was mistaken. That it’s only a bad joke. We have O’Sullivan arrested, it should be over by now. Athos should be safe now. The whole nightmare needs to stop. Every time I think now it’s over, something even worse happens. What if we cannot extinguish the flames? What will happen to my room, my home? I’ve lost everything else … Stop that, now! Are you insane … Athos, Porthos, the other men, they are more important than a room, a whole garrison, that can be built up again. We have to hurry, Tréville is right! _

 

“Rochefort, thank you.” Tréville said as he left the room. “Make sure that he cannot flee. I assume the King has been informed by now, Henri?” He looked at the senior officer. 

 

“Yes, Captain!”

 

“Alright, let’s move!” Tréville shouted. 

 

         Aramis and d’Artagnan could hear the concern in his voice.

 

_ He’s concerned as we all are. My goodness. Porthos I hope you and Athos are safe. Both of you must be safe. God, please, let them be alright. I don’t want to lose them.  _

 

         Aramis tried to get rid of the horrible thoughts.

 

_ It doesn’t help me if I imagine what has happened. O’Sullivan has to wait. We need to rush back to the garrison. Porthos is protecting Athos. I am sure of it! _

 

         As soon as they had left the room of O’Sullivan, Tréville started to run down the corridors, back to the courtyard, back to their horses. On the left and right side of him he could hear Aramis and d’Artagnan’s fast breathing, Henri several steps behind them. The loud noises of their boots echoed through the palace. The young Gascon started to run faster.

 

“I will fetch our horses!” He shouted. 

 

         Tréville nodded gratefully.

 

_ What will we find at the garrison? Will it still be intact. Athos, I hope you are alright, safe. How selfish of me? I hope that all my men are alright. It must have been another attack. Did O’Sullivan  have an accomplice? Or has O’Sullivan nothing to do with the attacks on Athos? Damn … everytime I think that we have finally moved one step ahead, we fall two steps back. _

_ Stay safe, Athos. I know that Porthos has your back. I need to know what is going on … I have to find out … _

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	50. Is that what you call nothing?

         The first thing Porthos felt after flying through a wall of fire was a dull pain in his chest. A heavy weight made his breathing difficult, opening his eyes, he realised that Athos was sprawled over his body. Porthos sighed and squeezed Athos’ shoulder.

 

“Hey, you alright?”

 

Athos couldn’t answer. He was panting for air. He felt dizzy and he tried not to vomit on top of Porthos. He tried to prop himself on his hands but the pain at his back made his elbows buckle and he fell again onto Porthos’ chest, his nose in the crook of the big man’s neck. Before Porthos could ask a further question he felt the heavy weight being lifted away from his chest. Michel and Pierre had finally figured out what to do. They helped by lifting Athos in an upright position.

 

“I … I …” Athos struggled to speak.

 

“Easy, easy with him!” Porthos instructed both Musketeers, while getting up. “We have to bring him away from here. To the well?” He suggested, not sure if Athos had been injured by the blazing flames.

         They all jumped as they heard a loud explosion. They turned to see the ceiling of the infirmary crashing, sending a firework of blue and orange sparks, accompanied by a hot waft and a black swirl of smoke. They ducked to avoid the splinters and flames. Athos doubled over and emptied what little food he had in his stomach onto the floor, heaving dry. Pierre and Michel nearly dropped him, Porthos groaned angrily and in the next moment he knelt at Athos’ side.

 

“We have to move away from here. More of this ceiling can collapse. Come, I’ll take you to the well.”

 

         Athos only nodded as a new wave of coughing hit his lungs, his eyes teary from the smoke. He laid his right arm over Porthos’ shoulder and shakily tried to walk with him, gripping his friend’s arm. Slowly they both made their way over to the well. More and more Musketeers, who were busy with rescuing the horses of the stables looked at them. Porthos ignored their stares. Suddenly Serge was walking next to him.

 

“Let me help you!” He insisted. “I can …”   

 

“Get us some fresh blankets and we need water.” Porthos rasped not letting go of Athos and continuing their unsecure walk across the courtyard. 

 

         He shuddered. Serge hurried away, back into his kitchen.

 

_ Now a marksman somewhere and we are lost, is it wise to stay outside? I need to check on Athos. I need to make sure that he has no burns. There’s the bench, it has to be safe. _

 

         Athos, limping, tried to help Porthos. He had to be strong. He felt more conscious, more aware of what was happening, more aware of the sounds, the lights, the people … His back was painful and he feared that his stitches hadn’t resisted this new ordeal. Aramis would be mad at him, once more. He tried to focus on each of his steps, but he heard a whimper and raised his head to look at his friend’s face.

 

“Porthos?” He asked worriedly.

 

“‘t’s alright. Nearly there.” Porthos gasped.

 

“I can walk … on my … own. Where are … you … hurt?” Athos tried to free himself.

“... Mmmh … Not hurt … Stop struggling …” 

 

         Porthos answered gritting his teeth as he felt a throbbing pain in his right arm. He looked at his sleeve and noticed that there was a large hole with blackened edges, in the middle of which he could see his skin. It was swollen, red and black. He groaned and sucked in a deep breath, tightening his grip on Athos as the man trembled under his hand. As they finally reached the bench. Porthos softly helped Athos to sit on it.

 

“Are you hurt?” He asked Athos again, concern in his voice.

 

“Not sure … I guess … the smoke … is hurting my … lungs.” Athos coughed again. “But you are!” He stated firmly. “Where?”

 

“It’s nothing Athos. You need water. I will …” 

 

         Porthos wanted to get up again, but at that moment Serge appeared out of the nowhere with cups, a jug of water and blankets.

 

“You boy ‘ve se’en lives like a cat ...” He said in his slang. “Here boy … drink.”

 

         Athos listened to Serge’s order and eagerly started to drink. The cool water felt good on his lungs. He could see Porthos following his example. Now that he could see more clearly he noticed Porthos’ pain ridden face. Around them was pure chaos. The horses had flown the courtyard, some more beams were crushing down and the other Musketeers were very busy fighting the flames with water. The air was heavy with a smell of wet soot.

 

“All this destruction … cause … of me?” Athos sadly realised.

 

“That’s rubbish and you know it!” 

 

         Porthos groaned angrily wincing as his arms reminded him of the burn his jump through the flames had caused. He tried to get up but Athos grabbed his left hand with the look they all knew too well. His eyes telling Porthos  _ I know you are lying to me, so now, let me have a look at your arm _ .

 

“Alright Athos! I admit it. But it’s nothing, just a small burn. I’m fine.”

 

         Athos snorted and without further words he slowly stood up and walked over to the well. He took d’Artagnan’s blue scarf from his neck and put it a water bucket that was standing next to the well. Then he walked at a snail’s pace back to Porthos. The latter had followed his friend with his brown eyes frowning, as he tried to understand where his friend took this strength from. Athos, as soon as he had sat down again next to Porthos’ right side, ordered.

 

“Show me!”

 

         Porthos rolled his sleeve to let Athos see his injury. The latter winced at the sight. It was a small surface the size of the palm of the hand, well, not Porthos’ hand, but at least a child’s hand, but the skin was covered in translucent blisters surrounded by shades of red and black. Athos wrung the scarf over the burn. Porthos stifled a whimper when the cold water fell onto his painful skin. Carefully, Athos wiped the skin around the blisters.

 

“Is that what you call nothing?”

 

“Yeah. It’s not … ahh … painful.” Porthos moaned.

 

“Sorry.” Athos looked up at his friend with a sheepish look.

 

After cleaning the wound as thoroughly he could, he wrapped the arm in the blue scarf.

 

“Better?” He softly asked.    

 

         Porthos nodded and smiled but couldn’t answer because at that moment they heard hooves on the cobbles and loud shouting.

         Athos wanted to add something funny, but another coughing fit made him double over. He felt dizzy, nauseous and as he closed his eyes, pictures appeared on the inside of his eyelids. Pictures flooded his mind, colours, voices, smells and sounds. Large and high ceiling rooms. Swords clashing against each other, Rochefort lying on the floor, the thick stifling air in the throne room, Tréville’s concerned look as he swayed on his tired and still wobbling legs. D’Artagnan calling him, protecting him, his big brown eyes looking at him with worry. The Queen, her blonde hair, her soft voice, the wetness in her beautiful blue eyes. Sadness, such a great sadness. But why? ... D’Artagnan running after him. Passing through people, nearly falling down the stairs. A man behind him. A sharp pain in his back. 

         He couldn’t breathe. He felt his heart pulsing in his chest. Sweat was forming on his forehead. He felt hot and cold at the same time. He looked up at the blackening sky, flames and sunrays were blended in a blinding light radiating too much heat. Everything was spinning. He gasped for air. He opened his mouth wide, but bent down as another cough hit him, gripped him, went through his spine. Pain. Intense pain. He tried to look at Porthos, with his mouth still open, catching for air. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t. His cold hands tried to reach out, but they sluggishly landed on Porthos’ shirt.

 

_ What’s wrong? What are these images? Porthos, help me … Porthos … why can’t I breathe. My heart …  I need air … I … _

 

         With horror Porthos watched his brother’s state of health quickly deteriorating. He wanted to help, to say something, to comfort him. Athos locked his sea green eyes - wide with fear - with him, his enlarged pupils reflecting the dying flames.

 

“I …”  He gasped. 

 

         His hand gripped Porthos’ shirt. Trying to hold on. Then his eyes rolled back. Porthos could see the white in them before they closed and his brother collapsed. Athos’ head fell over and if it hadn’t been for Porthos’ fast reaction, it would have hit the wooden table. Athos whole body went limp. Porthos needed all the strength he had left to hold him in a firm grip.

 

“Athos!” Porthos shouted in a strangled and desperate voice. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


         Tréville looked unbelievingly at the many horses nervously stomping on the cobbles in front of the gate leading into the garrison. Jacques and a few other boys from the neighbourhood tried to calm the neighing animals. From the far distance he had already seen the thick grey smoke. As he drew nearer, he could see that the smoke billowing from the stable had turned from grey to black. The acrid smoke entered his nostrils. As he jumped from his horse, pressing the reins into Jacques’ hands he wasn’t sure of what he would be prepared to find behind the big gate. He hurried through the short tunnel leading into the courtyard, Aramis, d’Artagnan and Henri directly behind him.

 

         In the courtyard he stopped. The thick smoke made it hard to see anything. He could  hear the Musketeers shouting as they formed a line to throw one bucket after another to choke the flames, to stop them from spreading over their barracks. As he walked further into the courtyard he could see the former infirmary. The ceiling had collapsed, and instead of an intact small building he could only see blackened vestiges.

 

_ Athos, Porthos. Where are you? _

 

         His eyes started to water from the biting smoke and he used his handkerchief to protect his mouth from the horrible taste that hung in the air.

 

“Is anybody hurt?” He shouted out loud.

 

         Next to him he could hear Aramis gasping out loud.

 

“This is a nightmare.”

 

         Then they could see a thin figure running over to them, Pierre.

 

“Captain, we couldn’t rescue the infirmary, but the fire is now extinguished there. We are still fighting the flames in the stable, but the wind is helping us and we think that the fire will not spread over to the barracks and the main building.”

 

“Is anybody hurt?” Tréville asked concern in his voice.

 

“Jean was hit by a fallen beam, but we were able to bring him out. He has only minor burns.”

 

“What’s about Athos and Porthos?” D’Artagnan screamed anxiously. “They must have been in the infirmary as the fire broke lose.” He looked with scared wide opened eyes at Pierre.

 

“Oh, they have made it out. They are sitting over there on the bench.” Pierre tried to calm them. All four men now looked over to the two figures that were bent over the bench.

 

“They are fine.” Pierre tried again.

 

“The hell they are fine!” 

 

         Aramis shouted angrily. Seeing Porthos struggling to keep Athos in a somehow upright position. The latter was bent over, unresponsive.

 

_ No Athos, please be alive. _

 

         Aramis ran over to the bench followed by d’Artagnan. Tréville’s wish was to do the same, but he couldn’t. He had to assess the destructions. What has happened to all of his men, to their horses, supplies. Suddenly he heard Henri clearing his throat.

 

“I can do this, Captain and I will inform you at once. Go over to them!” Henri gestured with his head into the direction of the bench.

 

“Thank you, Henri.” He nodded to his senior Musketeer and went over to the bench as well.

 

“What happened?” He heard Aramis asking. The medic had stopped next to Porthos and together they lowered Athos onto the floor, his head in Porthos’ lap.

 

“He … he collapsed …” Porthos stammered, shakingly stroking Athos’ hair. “He was fine a minute ago … he went over to the well to …” Porthos stopped, seeing Aramis frown.

 

         Aramis was searching for Athos’ pulse with two fingers on the sweaty blackened neck.

 

“Aramis?” Porthos asked anxiously. “Please.”

 

Aramis bent over his friend, his long curls brushing Athos’ forehead. From his position, Porthos couldn’t see anything and he felt his heart hammering in his chest.

 

“Ar …”

 

“He is only unconscious. We need to take him away from this chaos.” He stated firmly.

 

         A loud sigh escaped Porthos’ mouth, and he resumed his caresses.

 

“As far as I can see, my office is unharmed and the wind is carrying the flames in the other direction. Come, I will help you to carry him, Aramis!” Tréville offered.

 

“Porthos?” Aramis asked, noticing his friend’s look and his mechanical moves. “Porthos?” He called again.

 

Porthos raised his head and the two men noticed the moisture in his tired eyes.

 

“He will be fine, Porthos, you did well. Help us to bring him into my office.” Tréville told him in an understanding tone.

 

“I …”

 

“Captain, he can’t.” Aramis said. “Look at his arm!”

 

“Oh, Porthos, I am sorry. Is it serious?” Tréville asked concerned.

 

“No, I will help.” Porthos said trying to stand up.

 

         Suddenly d’Artagnan was behind him. He had stared at the whole chaos, shocked as his brothers, waiting, trying to figure out what was going on, but now he moved.

 

“Let me help you. You look like hell.” He softly said.

 

“Porthos!” Aramis angrily shouted. “Don’t behave like a child! You have inhaled smoke. Rest!”  

 

         Porthos looked at him sheepishly and nodded, but he didn’t seem ready to let go of his charge. Aramis placed a hand behind Athos’ head to allow Porthos to move. The latter felt the touch of d’Artagnan’s hands, pulling him up and he was relieved that he wasn’t alone anymore. His thigh was throbbing again, his right arm was burning and another coughing fit wrecked his body.

 

“D’Artagnan! Help Porthos to my office. Aramis, I will help you with Athos. I can take his legs!” Tréville ordered.

 

         Worriedly he observed his Lieutenant’s body in the glowing and almost supernatural light of the courtyard. But besides the black grime he couldn’t detect any visible injury or burns. Aramis seized Athos under his armpits, his friend’s head lolled on his chest and rested in the crook of his neck. Aramis shivered as he felt how unresponsive his friend was. He threw a worried glance at Tréville who seized Athos’ legs. Athos didn’t open his eyes, his mouth was half-open and his jaws slack.

 

“I will go backwards up the stairs.” Aramis informed the Captain. “I think it is better if his head is elevated.”

 

“Alright, watch your step.”

 

“I can guide you, Aramis. I will tell you which step you have to take!” 

 

         D’Artagnan shouted over the loud noise of the still roaring fire. He had laid Porthos’ right arm over his neck.

 

“We will follow you.” He stated firmly, then he turned to Porthos.

 

“Are you ready to go?”

 

“I … am!” Porthos coughed again his throat still burning from the smoke he had inhaled.

 

         So they slowly made their way up to Tréville’s office. Aramis’ hands slipped several times on the wet fabric of Athos’ sleeves, but he tightened his grip, jaws clenched in the effort. His gait was unsteady as he fumbled awkwardly to find the edge of each step, his chin preventing Athos’ head from rolling. As they reached Tréville’s office, d’Artagnan hurried to open the door.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	51. Men don’t faint.

⚔⚔

 

“We will lay him on my bed.” Tréville instructed. All the time he hadn’t lost sight of the unconscious man. His Lieutenant hadn’t shown any signs of waking.

 

“Let’s put him on his uninjured side!” Aramis’ instructed, now fully in his  _ medic mode _ . “I want to check if his stitches are still intact.” He turned his head and looked at Porthos’ miserable appearance. “Porthos sit down, before being the next one to faint!” He ordered.

 

“I’m a man. Men don’t faint.” Porthos grumbled.

 

“Athos has done that a lot these past days.” D’Artagnan sighed.

 

“He collapsed.” Aramis clarified. “Unfortunately for us all. Now, Captain, d’Artagnan, can you please hold Athos in a firm grip. I don’t want him to roll on his back for now.” Aramis added.

 

        The men obeyed Aramis’ orders and the medic immediately knelt next to Athos.

 

“Athos, can you hear me?” 

 

        He first asked quietly, then a bit louder. But the swordsman showed no signs of waking.

 

“He is still out cold.”

 

        Aramis started to pull up Athos’ dusty shirt in order to check the bandage on his back.

 

“What has happened?” Tréville asked in the meantime.

 

        Both of his hands were gripping Athos’ shoulders to block any possible sudden movement, while d’Artagnan was holding Athos’ legs.

 

“I … I must have fallen asleep. I don’t know why, I suddenly felt very tired. I woke up, because Athos screamed Milady’s name. Then I realised that smoke was everywhere and fire was creeping through the wooden walls … I am sorry.” 

 

        Porthos explained, lowering his eyes to hide his shame and anger.

 

“If the fire started in the stables it could be possible that the smoke came through the windows and made you tired.” D’Artagnan said from behind.

 

        Porthos was grateful for that explanation. He raised his head and smiled at d’Artagnan, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

 

“But what about the guards in front of the infirmary?” Tréville asked. “They must have noticed something.”

 

“I don’t know. Suddenly fire was everywhere and Athos didn’t want to wake up. I had to carry him out. I could hear a loud explosion, the door burst and I had to jump through the flames to bring him outside.” Porthos coughed again. “Ahh ... this stupid smoke.” He shook his head angrily.

 

“Thank God!” He heard Aramis exclaiming. “The stitches are still intact and I can’t see any burns.” Aramis had tenderly checked Athos’ back, the bandage, his hands, legs and finally his face.

 

“I put a blanket over his head before we jumped.” Porthos told him. “Outside Pierre and …” He coughed again “ … were waiting. They tried to help, but Athos was sick … and then we both went over to the bench.” He explained. “I thought he was alright. He cared for my wound.”

 

        Porthos tried to fight against the tears that were welling in his eyes. He should have seen, he should have noticed that something was wrong.

 

“Please, Aramis, tell me that he will be fine again!” He pleaded, still in shock and pain.

 

“He is only unconcious. I am not sure how much smoke he inhaled, but if he managed to help you with your arm, I think his body is simply exhausted. His breathing seems to be normal. We have to watch him. But for now, we should clean his face, change his clothes and let him sleep.”

 

        Aramis looked into three pairs of worried eyes. He softly stroked Athos’ scalp through his thick hair, checking for any possible bumps that could have caused a collapse too, but didn’t find anything. Then he stood up.

 

“D’Artagnan, Captain, we can turn him now onto his back and put some pillows under the injury.” Both men hurried to help.  

 

“D’Artagnan can you go into Porthos’ and my room and fetch some fresh clothes for both of them and my honey salve.” He instructed then he turned around towards Porthos. “Now, I will check your wounds.” He smiled into Porthos’ big eyes still filled with moisture.

 

“I will fetch some water.” Tréville offered and then he left too.

 

“Porthos you should lie down too! Your thigh must hurt again and now your arm. Maybe we can get a second bed in here?” Aramis suggested, while checking his friend over.

 

“What …?” 

 

        Porthos asked, confused. He hadn’t been listening to Aramis, but looked on Athos’ chest that was slowly rising and falling.

 

“I nearly …” Porthos answered in a choked voice, lowering his eyes.

 

“Porthos?” Aramis asked softly, a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

 

“Nothing.” Porthos mumbled.

 

“Porthos!” Aramis said again. “Tell me.”

 

“I … I should … if I …” Porthos tried.

 

        Aramis came to face him and knelt to level his eyes with his friend’s.

 

“Look at me, Porthos. Look at me.” Aramis told him squeezing Porthos’ knee. “You did well. It wasn’t your fault. You saved him. You saved him Porthos. Can’t you see that?”

 

“I should have stopped him walking to that well.” Porthos said more to himself. “I hate seeing him like this. Collapsing in my arms, lying pale on a mattress, barely breathing and most of all he is so ashamed of himself. He must get better. We have to catch this evil bastard, who did this to him. This has to stop. Now!”  

        Porthos closed his eyes and sighed. Aramis felt that he was trying to control his emotions. Aramis gripped his wrists to have his attention.

 

“We have him, Porthos! We have arrested O’Sullivan. D’Artagnan has …”

 

“What … and you have waited that long to tell me?” Porthos exclaimed. “Has O’Sullivan confessed? Did he tell you why? Wait … if you arrested him, when did you do that …?” 

 

        Porthos thought hard. He was thinking of the arson, that someone, their perpetrator had started the fire.

 

“We arrested him about two hours ago.”

 

“Are you sure that it is O’Sullivan, because if it is him, then, who started the fire …?” Porthos looked confused into Aramis’ eyes.

 

“I … I cannot answer that right now?” Aramis looked irritated. “We hadn’t that much time to question him. Henri came and informed us about the fire.” Aramis told him.

 

        Both men stayed silent for a while, Aramis thinking about Porthos’ words, and Porthos fighting with another cough.

 

“It could ... be ... him … if he used ... powder … like … Vadim ... in the … tunnels ...”  

 

        Aramis and Porthos both turned their heads and stared at Athos who had woken several minutes before. At first he was confused, it took him a while to work out where he was. He could smell the odour of burned clothes, but something else too. The taste of papers, ink. He was in Tréville’s office.  

 

 _I am lying again in his bed, what happened … the fire … Porthos saving me … the well … Porthos’ arm … I must have passed out … when will this stop? When will I be strong enough to take care of myself? I cannot be alone because I can hear Aramis and Porthos … they are next to me. Good Aramis_ _wants to treat_ _Porthos. So … they have arrested O’Sullivan … but why has he done this to me …? Why does this man want to see me dead? It doesn’t make any sense at all. Something is not right. I … we miss something. … The fire … was it pure chance? I doubt that. They are talking about the fire. Someone has tried another attack, but if they arrested O’Sullivan two hours ago … wait … it could have been placed like several month ago as Vadim tried to rob the jewelry of the King … I have to tell them …_

 

        With his eyes still closed and a weak voice, Athos had told them. Now, he slowly opened his still red eyes and looked over at his friends.

 

“Don’t … look … at me … like …” Athos whispered with a raspy voice. 

 

        Then he coughed out loud. He tried to curl himself in a foetal position. Tréville who had just entered at that moment saw that Athos was awake and in pain and pressed the water jug into Aramis’ hands then he helped Athos onto his side.

 

“Better?” He softly asked. 

 

        Athos’ bright eyes searched his Captain’s face. He nodded shortly as a second coughing fit gripped him.

 

“It’s good to see you awake!” Tréville encouragingly smiled at him.

 

“I’m sorry … to cause you so much ... trouble ... lately.” Athos mumbled.

 

“You haven’t caused any trouble!” Tréville stated firmly, his pale blue eyes searched Athos’ eyes and looked straight into them. “So stop talking and thinking like that, the fire is not your fault but I promise you whoever did this will pay dearly for it.” He said in a loud voice.

 

“You think it was arson?” Aramis asked. 

 

        The medic filled two cups with water pressed one cup in Porthos’ left hand and with the other cup he went over to his bedridden friend.

 

“Here, drink!” Aramis ordered while waiting for an answer from their Captain.

 

        With shaking hands Athos gripped it and slowly drank. Then he gave the empty cup back to Aramis.

 

“You were lucky my friend. Both of you!” 

 

        Aramis softly stroked some strands out of Athos’ eyes and softly touched his forehead. It was warm, but no sign of a high fever. Athos leaned into Aramis’ warm hand.

 

“I doubt that the fire was an accident!” Tréville stated firmly. “It has destroyed the one place we tried to protect and it nearly killed two of my officers.” Tréville sighed.

 

        He tried to ignore the shiver going down his spine.

 

_ We have been lucky again, but for how long? This has to stop, this O’Sullivan will speak. He will tell me if he acted alone or if he has an accomplice. My patience is about to run out. _

 

        Tréville looked at his suffering Lieutenant, who was obviously fighting against his fatigue.

 

“Thank you … Porthos … for saving me …” Athos tried to turn his head in Porthos direction.

 

        Porthos softly smiled.

 

“You would have done the same for me.”

 

“I would have then ... a lot of broken ... ribs?” Athos tried to joke.

 

        Aramis looked irritated.

 

“When Porthos jumped ... and we both fell ... I landed on his chest ... twice.”

 

“I should check on you more properly.” Aramis said to Porthos.

 

“It’s nothing!” Porthos waved.

 

        The door opened again and d’Artagnan entered the room loaded with blankets, clothes and Aramis’ special honey salve. He spotted Athos and his serious face changed into a bright smile.

 

“Thank God you are awake.” He shouted.

 

        Athos returned his smile. Now that he had seen that d’Artagnan was alright too, he felt his eyes drooping again.

 

“I’m tired … sorry …” He mumbled, before sleep overcame him again.

 

        Aramis softly patted his friend’s shoulder.

 

“I think it’s better for him to sleep while we are cleaning him and changing his clothes. See Porthos, I told you, his body simply needs sleep, he will be fine.” Aramis stated firmly to his comrades and to himself.

 

_ Athos is remembering what has happened, that’s a good sign, he is less confused and he had an interesting idea of the fire. I have to ask the Captain, but first I have to treat my two patients. _

 

“Captain, do you think we can bring another bed in here for Porthos as well, I want to check him over more thoroughly.”

 

“Of course!”

 

“I will fetch one!” D’Artagnan shouted.

 

“I will help you, d’Artagnan.” The Captain called following the young man outside.

 

        Porthos looked angrily at Aramis, but deep inside he felt relieved that he could lie down soon, and he was grateful that they hadn’t sent him to his own room to rest. Aramis took advantage of Porthos’ off-guard moment to unwrap the scarf from his friend’s arm and roll the shirtsleeve above his elbow to expose the damaged skin.

 

“Mmggnnhh … stop that!” Porthos growled trying to free his arm. “I am fine.”

 

“The  _ fine _ you borrowed from Athos’ vocabulary or a _ fine _ with another meaning?” Aramis joked.

 

Porthos huffed in response and winced when Aramis started to wipe the remnants of soot and dirt.

 

“Is it  _ fine _ ?” Athos drawled.

 

        Aramis and Porthos were startled and turned towards Athos, who had woken again hearing his brothers’ distress.

 

“Sorry, Athos …, we are too noisy … Sorry … and to answer your question, no, it isn’t fine at all.” Aramis commented. “Porthos, you are incorrigible. Are you trying to become a second Athos?”

 

“Aramis!” Porthos and Athos cried in unison.

 

“I’m not kidding, it will hurt for a while and it will hurt … now!” Aramis warned Porthos half a second too late.

 

“Ouch!” Porthos cried, closing his eyes.

 

        Athos looked at him with worried eyes.

 

“I’m …” He began.

 

“Athos!” Aramis chided. “Stop that!”

 

“I didn’t …” Athos tried.

 

“You did! Now Porthos, stop moving and let me clean that ugly thing and if you don’t look, it will hurt less.”

 

        When d’Artagnan and the Captain returned carrying a narrow bed and a straw mattress with a lot of curses, Aramis was opening the honey pot. A sweet and spicy smell filled the whole room.

 

“Ugh …” Porthos groaned.

 

“I concur.” Athos said grimly. “The next time I see a hive I shall run away.”

 

“You are children, and all this smoke has worsened your mental state. Now, stop complaining. Honey is the best medicine for everything!” Armis laughed while spreading the sticky salve on Porthos’ biceps before wrapping it in a clean cloth.

 

“Aramis and the panacea.” Athos mumbled.

 

Aramis continued to laugh and lifted Porthos’ shirt, probing at his friend’s ribs.

 

“What are you … mhh … doing?” Porthos hissed.

 

“Does it hurt?” Aramis asked looking up at him with a questioning look.

 

“No, your hands are cold.” Porthos grunted.

 

“Liar. Alright, bruised, that’s why it hurts, but not broken or cracked.” Aramis smiled smoothing his friend’s shirt.

 

        He stood up and fetched a basin, a jug of water and a few towels.

 

“So, my friends, do you plan to soil our Captain’s room with your dirty clothes and his sheets with your dirty faces and hands? No? So now that I have some help, I will try to make you presentable. Who is the first?”

 

“You can help Porthos and I …” D’Artagnan began.

 

“Alright, d’Artagnan, now you are used to your new role of footman, so go and help Athos. Porthos, get up please.” Aramis laughed.

 

“I’m not an invalid.” Porthos grumbled, standing up and trying to remove his shirt by himself.

 

        The pulsating pain in his arm made him wince and search Aramis’ eyes with a sheepish and pleading expression in his brown irises. Aramis reached for him and started to help him undress and clean his face and hands.

 

“I can manage!” 

 

        The sudden hoarse shout made them turn around. Athos, sitting upright on the edge of the bed was staring at d’Artagnan with an angry look. The young man was frozen, a hurt expression in his dark eyes. The Captain who was trying to erect the additional bed stopped and straightened. They didn’t dare to intervene. Suddenly, Athos’ eyes widened and he raised a hand to his mouth. 

 

“I … I’m sorry … d’Artagnan, please, forgive me … I …”

 

“It’s alright, Athos.” D’Artagnan reassured him, kneeling in front of him, a wet cloth in his hand. “Let me …”

 

“Thank you.” Athos murmured lowering his gaze. “Thank you. I shouldn’t ...”

 

“Sometimes, it isn’t a shame to need help … or to ask for it.” 

 

D’Artagnan whispered while gently wiping the dark stains on his friend’s face and neck, then taking one hand after the other to softly clean them, lingering on each long finger in a soothing gesture.

 

        A moment later, the two wounded men were clean, dressed in fresh linen, shirts and trousers and lying in the beds, side by side. The three other men left the room and closed the door to the sight of two fierce soldiers curled up in their bed like exhausted children. 

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	52. A Broken Hero

⚔⚔

  
  


**_Infirmary_ **

 

          Porthos’ eyes were itchy from the nasty smoke and he felt his body slowly succumbing to exhaustion. He wanted to stay awake and alert, he wanted to watch over his brother, still fearing another attack even if he was sure that this room was almost the most safe room in Paris now, as everyone in the garrison was on alert. Porthos allowed himself to relax slightly trying to forget how each of his breathes was sending needles into his burnt skin.

 

          He rolled onto his side and turned his head towards Athos who was lying on his back, the pain in his wound not even strong enough to keep him awake. His expression was soft and had lost all its weariness and frustration. His closed eyelids were caressed by a soft finger of sunlight where flakes of dust and maybe remnants of smoke were dancing slowly. Outside, there were still shouts and orders, exclamations and curses sometimes covered by loud crashes as the dying fire still tried to fight, but the garrison had received help from the neighbourhood. Men, women, children carried buckets to kill the monster which had tried to swallow the whole garrison. The sounds were hushed in the quiet office. Porthos closed his eyes without even noticing.

 

          The rustle of sheets woke him up. It took him a few seconds to open his eyes and swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. He felt numb and weary, his saliva was thick and his tongue felt dry. He lifted his right hand to his face to rub at his gritty eyes hissing as the mere mouvement awoke the pain in his arm. He blinked several times trying to see more clearly.  When he noticed that the shadows had moved and the gentle sunrays had left Athos’ face, he realised that he had slept at least one hour. Athos, whose eyes were open and fixed on the high window … Athos who was lying on his back ignoring his wound, one leg bent and the other one moving restlessly on the crisp sheets … It was this noise that had roused Porthos from his deep sleep. Porthos rolled onto his side and cleared his throat. Silence had come back in the courtyard where the dark swirling clouds of smoke had disappeared leaving a persistent odour of soot which covered the strong smell of Porthos’ salve. 

 

“Athos?” Porthos whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke he had inhaled.

 

          Athos didn’t react but the frantic moves of his right leg stopped.

 

“What’s the matter, Athos?” Porthos asked again, straightening and sitting on the edge of his straw mattress.

 

Athos rolled onto his side, back to Porthos, moaning when the pain radiated into his spine. 

 

“Oh, no, Athos, no you don’t hide from me!” Porthos groaned inching a little towards his friend.

 

          The space between the two beds was so narrow that Porthos had just to stretch his arm to reach his friend’s shoulder, but Athos shrugged and dislodged the tentative hand, moving forwards on the bed to escape Porthos’ touch.

 

“Continue like that and you will end up kissing the floor.” Porthos grunted hoping that a small dose of humour would help a little.

 

Athos didn’t answer or move. Porthos felt suddenly frustrated.

 

“Will you talk to me? Reading your facial expressions, I can do that, but it would be easier if I could see your face!” He exclaimed, barely keeping his voice neutral. “Please, Athos, I’m worried.” He added in a more pleading tone.

 

“You knew ...”

 

The two words reached Porthos’ ears, muffled by the pillow where Athos had buried his face. It was more an affirmation than a question. Porthos tried to understand but he had absolutely no idea what Athos was talking about.

 

“You knew. All of you … “ Athos stated dryly, an obvious tinge of anger colouring his voice.

 

“What are you talking about? I am not clever enough to speak in riddles. Please, Athos, tell me. Did I do something wrong? When?”

 

          At last, Athos turned his head towards him and the sorrow Porthos saw in these sea-coloured eyes broke his heart.

 

“You knew Ana-Josefa had died”. 

 

_ So that’s your secret, your deep sadness? _

 

A heavy awkward silence settled between the two men. Athos resumed his foetal position and Porthos lost sight of his face as his curls fell on it, hiding his teary eyes. He stood up quietly rounded Athos’ bed to sit down on the edge of the mattress, next to Athos’ bent knees. Silence. Porthos began to draw a complicated pattern on the crumpled sheet with his left forefinger, unconsciously following the shape of Athos’ body, making the fabric creak in an unnerving sound.

 

“Stop that.” Athos mumbled from behind his auburn curtain of hair.

 

“Stop that yourself.” Porthos answered with a half-smile.

 

          Athos reached a trembling hand to remove the strands falling in his eyes and sat up making the skin around his stitches stretch. He bent his legs, circled them with his arms in spite of the pain which erupted in his back and put his forehead onto his knees.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me? You knew all along that she had died.”

 

“Athos. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Why?” 

 

          Athos repeated raising his head to look straight into Porthos’ deep brown eyes, his voice low and harsh.

 

“You know why, Athos. You know why!” Porthos exclaimed frustrated.

 

“Why?” Athos repeated a third time, then he paused suddenly coming to realisation and continued in a choked voice, briefly looking at Porthos through his curls. “You didn’t tell me, because she didn’t die of the flu, but she was poisoned too ... My God …” He coughed. “Please tell me I am wrong! … I ...” 

 

__Morbleu!_ Am I that weak? Why do they need to be so overprotective? Why? Why didn't they tell me? I want to sleep. I want to be alone. I want to forget. Why is everything so painful? My head is swirling, leave me alone, Porthos … please … let me be … I don’t deserve your ...  _

 

          Porthos looked at the bent head, at the trembling fingers crumpling the fabric of Athos’s trousers, at the shaking shoulders. He had to calm down, he had to spare Athos by silencing his own anger, his own fears … But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t keep all these boiling emotions in his heart.

 

“You want to know why? But now, it’s my turn to ask you why? Why should we have told you? To make you even more sad? Why? To make you feel even more guilty? Why? To make you abandon everything and stop fighting?” 

 

          Porthos finished his sentence breathless, his hoarse voice too loud for the quiet cocoon of the room.  Athos stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in amazement. Porthos’ hands were clenched into tight fists, his eyes shut trying to rein in his emotions.

 

“I’m sorry, Porthos.”

 

“No, no, Athos. You are not!” Porthos growled like a wounded animal. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Nor have we! The only one who should be sorry is the bastard who sowed death throughout this city.”

 

          The gentle hand which closed on his fist made him open his eyes and take a deep calming breath.

 

“I’m sorry … No, let me speak, please.” Athos interrupted Porthos as he opened his mouth to argue. “I am sorry, because I understand your motivation … My God … I’m so tired!” 

 

          Porthos turned his hand in his friend’s palm and used his thumb to softly rub at the back of Athos’ hand. Athos smiled through the tears that were trembling on his lower eyelid.

 

“You wanted to protect me and I would have done the same for you all.”

 

“You liked her.” Porthos whispered.

 

“Yes, I did.” Athos murmured lowering his gaze to stare at their joined hands. “She was a lovely and intelligent young woman … This awful shared past was … like a link between us.”

 

“You were her hero, her white knight.”

 

          Athos snorted. 

 

“A broken hero. A knight without armour … I can’t fathom what she could see in me …”

 

“Athos!” Porthos smiled. “You are blind, my friend.” 

 

          He had let go of Athos’ hand and he resumed his unnerving drawings on the sheets, so Athos seized his wrist to stop him. 

 

“How did you find out about her death? Did someone tell you?” Porthos asked softly.

 

_ Was it O’Sullivan? Was it the man who stabbed you? Who told you Athos? Who told you? _

 

“The Queen told me.” Athos said tiredly. 

 

          His head started to loll and he closed his eyes. Porthos froze understanding falling on him.

 

“That’s why … you left? That’s why you went to the river? … God! I am …”

 

“No, you are not, Porthos. Nobody is.” Athos said in a firm voice, straightening his neck and gripping his friend’s wrist even more tightly.

 

_ And I didn’t leave because of this … it was the heat in the room … my emotions … I didn’t want the Queen … d’Artagnan … to see that … I needed air … and suddenly I couldn’t think clearly … my instinct told me to return to the garrison ... I should have waited for you … I had promised … I let you down … I disappointed you … I didn’t keep my word …  _

 

          Athos turned away, ashamed.

 

_ Hey look at me, Athos. Stop blaming yourself. This illness makes you like that. You were still too weak, you are still too weak, you were in no condition ...  _

 

          Porthos sighed heavily as he fought with his own emotions, remembering the day before, when they were searching for Athos. He had to speak, he had to tell him ...

 

“Because of us … you could have ... because we hide it ... you could have d …” Porthos blurted shakingly. 

 

          Athos felt his brother’s sadness and feeling of guilt. He answered turning his head again towards Porthos, making his tousled curls dance around his face. Rays of daylight tinged the strands with shades of gold giving Athos an almost angelic expression. For a brief moment, Porthos only saw the young man before him, not the seasoned soldier, not the warrior, not the man with this dark past, but just the young man, hurt and fragile, and it made his heart swell with affection.

 

“I could have, but I am not … Porthos … Because you are, all of you are always there for me. And I am grateful for that.” Athos affirmed, head straight.

 

“But …” Porthos tried to protest.

 

“Porthos!” Athos chided quirking an eyebrow with his special Athos’ expression. 

 

          Porthos smiled at his friend, recognising the fatigued expression on Athos’ face.

 

“Try to sleep, my friend. You look …”

 

“Tired, I know, Porthos, I am tired. I feel like a weak kitten.” Athos stifled a yawn.

 

“Sleep!” Porthos ordered. 

 

          Athos nodded shortly, before lying down again. As soon as his head touched the soft pillow his eyes closed again and Porthos could hear his brother’s even breathing. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

 

“Aramis, shall I send for Lemay?” Tréville asked. 

 

          Both men were standing in the burnt down infirmary. The bed where Athos had rested only hours ago was completely destroyed. Aramis pressed a handkerchief on his mouth. Billows of smoke made it hard to breathe. Horrified, Aramis realised how close it had been this time. He nearly lost not one, but two brothers today. He closed his eyes and swallowed convulsively trying to erase the effects of a retrospective fear from his mind.

 

“Aramis?” Tréville asked a bit louder. 

 

          His gaze wandered through the chaos.

 

“What …?” Aramis looked up, confused.

 

“Shall I send for the doctor?”

 

“They are resting now, both of them. I think that if Lemay comes this evening it will be enough. But, I’ll go and check before we return to the palace. Athos needs to eat. I have just heard that he was sick before we found him. Of course, he didn’t tell me …” He sighed. 

 

“Maybe he has forgotten.” Tréville tried to calm his medic. 

 

“Perhaps …” Aramis said in a low voice. “I doubt that this fire happened by chance.” Aramis looked a last time around them. “But it wasn’t set in here.” Aramis concluded. 

 

“We should look in the stable. I sent d’Artagnan earlier, let’s join him.” 

 

          On their way to the stable they met Henri.

 

“Any casualties?” Tréville asked concerned.

 

“No, only minor burns for three men and we could save all our horses, we were damn lucky, Captain.” Henri reported.

 

“Have you found out if it was arson?”

 

“D’Artagnan is investigating, he has an interesting theory, but he will tell you himself. Thomas saw a man entering the stable this morning, he has never seen him before here. He was carrying a large box and he thought he was delivering something.”

 

“Could he describe him?”

 

“No, the man was gone too quickly and he was wearing a black hood. Middle aged, middle stature, tall, like many others. With this description we have to prove every second of our own men.” Henri growled angrily.

 

“Thank you Henri, oh, have you seen Pierre and Michel?”

 

“They are still helping with the fire, they were the first responders to the flames as the fire started in the stables. Jacques shouted for help.” He explained.

 

Tréville groaned inwardly, he sensed the anger stirring up in him. 

 

_ They shouldn’t have left their posts, at least not without other Musketeers relieving them from their post. Their fast help honoured them and saved all our horses, but their stupidity nearly killed Athos and Porthos. Oh, now I have to deal with them too. They have to tell me what they were thinking. _

 

          Next to Tréville, Aramis cleared his throat. 

 

“I think I’ll check with Serge, ask for food and something to drink. I guess d’Artagnan will show you the results of his investigation. I’ll hurry and then I’ll come with you back to the palace.” He said with a grave voice.

 

“Alright, Aramis, see you in half an hour.” Tréville nodded at his medic as the exhausted man hurried away. 

 

_ God, Aramis looks tired, no wonder, he hasn’t slept all night long, but telling him to stay here and rest, no, Aramis needs answers, like we all do. _

 

“Captain!” D’Artagnan shouted, “I think I have found something and I am now fully convinced that it was arson. If you will follow me, I can show you!” 

 

_**To be continued...** _


	53. Again and again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Helen, Beth (and Mr Beth) for your precious help... again and again. xxx

⚔⚔

 

**_A few minutes earlier_ **

 

D’Artagnan stepped carefully into what was left of the stable. The heavy oak beam above the main entrance had partially fallen and he had to bend down to slide into the blackened ruins. A strong odour of wet soot assaulted his nostrils and he recoiled as he touched a wall still hot from the flames which had licked it. A part of the roof had collapsed and the young man started a strange dance to reach the boxes where their horses could have died in the worst way possible, scared, suffocating, burning. He passed his beautiful stallion’s box just next to Athos’. The door of Athos’ friesian wasn’t totally burnt but the young Musketeer could see that it had been broken. The horse had surely fought to free himself and maybe even fought the Musketeers trying to untack him, he was so stubborn and brave, the very image of his owner, d’Artagnan thought with a fond smile.

 

He blinked when the wind brought a whirl of smoke from the bottom of the stable where haystacks had once been stored. He thought that if he had been an arsonist himself, he would have chosen this place to start the fire. He wiped at his teary eyes with the back of his hand and crouched down to observe the floor carefully. The ashes were still hot but the young man ran his gloved hand through them, not even knowing what he was looking for. As he was about to stand up his fingers met something, he put his hand again into the warm remnants of the huge haystacks and felt the object under his fingertips. A piece of rope? 

        But why would there be a rope under a haystack? Jacques always took good care of the stable and horses, he wouldn’t have left a rope on the floor, and it didn’t look like the ropes they used in the stable. Too thin for a tether, too thick for the ties they usually used for hay bales. He picked it up and sniffed as a familiar odour reached his nostrils. Gunpowder! The rope had been plunged in gunpowder and maybe it was too wet to have burnt entirely. The five inch long thin string crumbled between the young man’s fingers. He searched further through the layer of ashes and soon found another small piece of rope. He began to frantically push the ashes aside and following the length of the piece of rope which had drawn a darker line on the stone floor,  he reached the half-crumbled wall. There, he found what was left of a crate or a box which had been carefully hidden behind the big hay bales. He sighed as he understood that his assumption of a possible arson was true. He had just found the  _ how _ , but what about the  _ why  _ and the _ who _ ? 

        Again and again someone was trying to destroy his best friend. And if they had succeeded this time? If during his absence, Athos had died? He brought the back of his hand to his lips to silence the emotions menacing to suffocate him. He suddenly felt nauseous as the strong smell of the dying fire brought pictures flooding into his mind. Pictures of another fire in another place but pictures of the same man. He closed his eyes and saw, as clear as if it had happened the day before, two haunted bloodshot green eyes, seeking so desperately his understanding, his comfort, his help and more deeply, his forgiveness. 

        He could hear, as clear as if they had been said the day before, the words Athos had breathed out …  _ What do I do now _ ? He had seen so much shame and trust at the same time in Athos’ teary eyes that terrible night. He couldn’t help but try to imagine a life without him, a life where he wouldn’t feel his eyes on him, either angry or approving, either mocking or proud, but his eyes on him anyway, like a big brother’s eyes, or a father’s eyes … He still needed him. He would always need him, and his brothers needed him too. What would become of their quartet if he died? They would be like a sturdy horse unable to walk because of an amputated leg. 

        And Porthos … Porthos could have died too … The thought was too painful … He shook his head to erase these distressing images from his mind and stood up to leave the stable with his precious information.   

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“What have you found out, d’Artagnan?” Tréville asked his young Musketeer. 

 

        D’Artagnan showed the Captain the ropes and explained what he thought had happened:

 

“The ropes and powder was set so that it started to burn long after the culprit had left. At first the fire started at the other end of the stable, very slowly. So smoke could enter the infirmary.”

 

“That’s why Porthos became so sleepy.” Tréville nodded.

 

“Yes, but the first fire wasn’t set to burn the infirmary. The culprit knew exactly what to do. As the fire finally broke in the stable, Musketeers and the guards in front of the infirmary came running here to free the horses and to extinguish the flames. That’s when the second fire started. This time near to the back wall of the infirmary, over there.” 

 

        D’Artagnan showed with his index finger at the second spot.

 

“This has been a devilish plan.” Tréville shivered. “We were lucky, we were really lucky.” He said to himself, still shaking his head. Then he turned his attention back to d’Artagnan. “So we can assume that O’Sullivan had time to set the items for the fire this morning and then he left the garrison again.” 

 

“I think so!” D’Artagnan nodded. “This way he has the perfect alibi. Maybe he even hoped that the fire would have destroyed the evidence, the powder and the ropes by now too.”

 

“It is time to stop this!” Tréville angrily said. “I will ride back to the palace with Aramis and question O’Sullivan again.” Tréville stated firmly.

 

“Shall I come with you?”

 

“No, d’Artagnan. It is better if you keep an eye on Porthos and Athos and I leave you in charge of taking care of this chaos.” He pointed at the stables and the infirmary. “We need all the help we can get to rebuild it as soon as possible.”

 

“Will do, Captain!” D’Artagnan smiled. “Where is Aramis?” He asked.

 

“Aramis, he is trying to convince Athos to eat right now.”

 

“So I will have the easier job then!” D’Artagnan chuckled. 

 

        Tréville sighed loudly and looked at the young Gascon.

 

“No worries, Captain. I will protect him. Seems that I am getting used to it.” D’Artagnan tried to smile. “Why don’t you eat something too and I will prepare your horses.” He suggested his Captain. 

 

        Tréville gratefully nodded to d’Artagnan and walked silently to the kitchen. 

 

_ What a day! _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Sitting on a chair next to the two beds, Porthos was idly going through the pages of a small book, unable to focus attention on the lines. It was a small dark green volume Aramis had left in the room, he didn’t remember when or why. The printed characters were bold and condensed making the reading a little difficult for the impatient and nervous man. He tried to focus on the black intricate floral pattern running around the text. His eyes were fixed on a delicate rose when the door slowly creaked open. He was startled and immediately reached for his pistol hissing when the movement pulled on his damaged skin. 

 

“I am disappointed, my friend.” Aramis smiled softly. “I thought you would feel my presence behind the door.”

 

“Sorry not to have trained my telepathic ability lately.” Porthos mumbled, trying to look more relaxed than he really was.

 

        Aramis slowly approached him. Porthos had bent his head again to look at the pages.

 

“What is it?” Aramis whispered mindful of their sleeping friend and looking at the cover of the book. “Oh! Ronsard! How is it?”

 

“Boring, sentimental, depressing  … and poetic.” Porthos murmured before closing his eyes and closing the book with a too loud “clap”.     

        Athos stirred in his sleep but didn’t wake up. Porthos leaned forward and put his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. 

 

“Porthos?” Aramis whispered anxiously.

 

Porthos rubbed at his eyelids, his cheeks, his jaws then he ran his fingers through his tight curls sighing loudly.

 

“Porthos? What is it? What’s the matter?” Aramis asked resting a hand on the bent neck.

 

“He knows.”

 

“Sorry, what does he know?”

 

“That’s why he left. That’s why he went to the river. That’s why …”

 

        Aramis crouched down at his friend’s feet, his hand gripping Porthos’ knee.

 

“Hey. Calm down. What do you mean by that?”

 

“He remembers now. He remembers what happened at the palace, the Queen spoke to him, she told him. She told him about Ana-Josefa.” 

 

“I know … the Queen told me earlier ...” Aramis murmured. “My God, I can’t imagine how shocked he was when the Queen told him … But you don’t think …”

 

“I don’t know. Really, I don’t know …” 

 

“Porthos, look at me. Look at me! What did he say?” Aramis insisted.

 

Porthos raised his head to look at his friend. His dark eyes had lost their light.

 

“Porthos, he just needed fresh air. I am sure of it. He needed to escape the stifling and hot air of the Court, and the courtiers. You know how he hates Court life. Nothing more.”

 

“Anyway, we lied to him. He could have died, because of us hiding things from him.” Porthos growled. “When did we start hiding things from each other?” He angrily glared at Aramis. 

 

“Don’t go there Porthos! He wasn’t well enough to hear about her. He had to survive this poison and he couldn’t do it if his mind didn’t want.” Aramis finished in a whisper.

 

“So you mean … that …?”

 

“I don’t know Porthos … I don’t know what he really wanted …”

        They stayed quiet for a long time, both of them lost in thoughts, brooding about what they had done and about what they should have done or said. Aramis was the first to speak.

 

“How was he? Physically, I mean.”

 

“Exhausted.”

 

“No fever?” Aramis tried again.

 

“No.”

 

        Porthos’ answers were short and harsh. 

 

“Porthos? You are thinking too loudly, I can hear your guilt.”

 

“Leave my mind please.” Porthos grunted.

 

“No need to enter your mind to know what you are currently thinking. You think that he wanted to end everything in the  _ Seine _ .”

 

        Porthos sighed, lowering his face in his hands again. His voice came hushed and shaky.

 

“And if I am right?”

 

“You are not. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing. This awful poison was still running through his veins.” 

 

“But if …”

 

_ End? … To end everything? … No! No, Porthos! I didn’t want to end everything that way … Porthos … If I had the strength … I must wake up … Please, Porthos … I want to live … I have always wanted to live … If not for me … for you … for you all … I didn’t want to die! _

 

“I didn’t … want … to die.” A raspy voice came from the bed, muffled by the crumpled sheets.

 

Aramis shifted on his knees to turn towards him, Porthos slid from the chair and knelt next to his weak friend.

 

“Hey, Athos, sorry, we were too loud.”

 

“No, it’s alright, Porthos.” Athos assured him.

 

        Suddenly they looked at each other, uncomfortable. Athos spoke first.

 

“I swear. I just wanted to breathe, to stop being so hot and dizzy. Everything was too much. I just wanted … to … stop everything … but not in the way you think … Porthos, I swear. All of you … fought so hard … to save me … I could never … I needed space and I thought to return to the garrison would be the best.  I wanted … to be … somewhere … where I could … mourn … I wanted to be at home … ” Athos said these last words in a more firm tone, gripping the hand Porthos had laid on the edge of the mattress. 

 

        Porthos bowed his head. Aramis slung an arm around his shoulders.

 

“Hey, Porthos. Listen to him!”

 

        Porthos didn’t answer, pondering about what he had said and heard.

 

“I'm sorry, Athos.” He said at least, sheepishly.

 

        A knock at the door made them jump. Aramis stood up enthusiastically. 

 

“The meal of his Lordship!” He laughed.

 

“Aramis the telepath.”

 

“Not at all, I just dropped by the kitchen before coming here. Our dear Comte needs to eat.”

 

        The door opened and Serge entered the room carrying a tray loaded with bowls, bread and fruits. Porthos laughed, not his usual laugh but a little something coming from his throat sounding like Athos’ usual snort. Athos slumped again onto his pillow, wincing from the pain in his back and smiling from the relief he felt at seeing his friends laugh, at last. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

        Tréville was already standing next to their horses, waiting for Aramis. His back was straight, he was frowning and obviously chewing nervously the inside of his cheek. Seeing his Captain waiting for him, the medic hurried down the stairs to the courtyard. 

 

“Sorry, it took me a bit longer than I expected.” He mumbled.

 

“How are they?”

 

“Porthos will be fine and Athos …” Aramis sighed loudly.

 

“That bad?” Tréville asked concerned. 

 

“You know him, Captain. Right now he is blaming himself about what happened today. He is convinced that the fire is his fault … and he remembers … he remembers why he left the palace … he remembers that he didn’t follow your direct order …” Aramis paused.

 

“You want to stay with him? I can ask d’Artagnan to come with me … Maybe it’s better …” 

 

        Tréville was interrupted by Aramis.

 

“No, I’ll come with you. The sooner  we discover  that O’Sullivan did try to kill Athos, the sooner we can put this whole nightmare and ordeal for Athos to an end.”

 

        Tréville nodded understandingly.

 

“Other than Athos’ self pity, is he alright? The smoke, the wound, any signs of fever?” Tréville asked.

 

“He is still very tired. But that he can remember the missing parts of the day before is a good sign and he was hungry, so I think that his body is starting to heal. I will ask Lemay to have another look at him later.” Aramis added with a loud sigh.

 

“Give him time Aramis! It’s not an easy situation for him right now. I don’t know how I would act if I were that weak.”

 

“I will Captain. I hope that O’Sullivan will finally talk, so that I can give Athos some answers tonight.” Aramis said firmly, clearing his throat. “Let’s move!” 

 

        Both men rode in silence to the palace, the images of the destroyed infirmary and the stables still vivid in their imagination. As they reached the palace gates Tréville turned to Aramis.

 

“Let me talk to O’Sullivan alone at first. Maybe I can achieve more when he’s only talking  to me as the commanding officer. If that doesn’t work, your part will be to threaten him again, confronting him with all the information we’ve  already gathered.” Tréville explained.

 

“Shall I wait outside?” Aramis asked quietly.

 

“No, I want to have you with me, to observe, to see how he reacts to my questions.” Tréville added.

 

“I will, Captain!” Aramis accepted his Captain’s idea.  

 

        They climbed the stairs to the palace, the sound of their boots filled the empty corridors as they rushed along while passing the last few feet to O’Sullivan’s room, where the Red Guards had brought him under arrest after they had to leave in a hurry.

 

_ How can I make O’Sullivan talk? This man is intelligent? He won’t admit that he has killed three people and tried to kill Athos. He knows that a confession will lead to a death sentence. I need a strategical trick.  _

 

        Tréville wondered while Aramis had an odd feeling, something was wrong, something was bothering him, but he couldn’t say what. 

 

_ Stay calm! Athos is safe! No reason to worry. Everybody in the garrison is now on alert. Porthos is with him, he saved him earlier. D’Artagnan is there too … Are we being watched again?  _

 

        He quietly turned around and looked, but he couldn’t see anyone.

 

 _“Aramis!”_ He heard his Captain calling in a haze. “You can go to Lemay as soon as we have finished our interrogation. Come!” Tréville sensed Aramis’ insecurity. 

 

        The medic hurried to follow him, pushing his thoughts away. Two Red Guards were standing in front of O’Sullivan’s room. They looked bored.

 

“Who is there?” One of them asked holding a pistol, but as soon as he recognised Tréville he lowered his weapon.

 

“Open the door!” Tréville ordered, but the Red Guard ignored his order.

 

“We have our orders from Comte Rochefort, no one is allowed to see the prisoner.” The other Red Guard informed Tréville.

 

“No one expects the man who ordered the arrest of the prisoner, you fool!” Aramis stated angrily. “So open the door for us, now!” He ordered, while Tréville tried to stay calm. 

 

“Do as he says!” A cold voice from behind them appeared in their back, a few moments later, Rochefort stood next to them.

 

“I am sorry, Captain. I was hold back by another task I had to fulfill for the King, but I just received the message that you’re back. Is your garrison still intact?” Rochefort asked. 

 

        Aramis wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear real interest in the last question.

 

“Two minor buildings collapsed, but the fire is extinguished. Nothing that we cannot fix. Give us the support of some of your men and we’ll have rebuilt it in a week.” Tréville answered. 

 

“Of course!” Rochefort bowed slightly. “My men will help!”

 

“Fine! Now, Rochefort, the only help I need from your men, is to let me see O’Sullivan. I assume he hasn’t told you anything yet?” Tréville looked into Rochefort’s unreadable face.

 

“I have waited for you, but I’d like to help with the interrogation, if you’ll allow me to help.” Rochefort smiled.

 

“Give me a few minutes with him alone.” Tréville asked politely. “I have thought about a trick I want to try on him, but if that doesn’t work, I would be glad to listen to your advice. I am sure that as a former prisoner you know some special questioning techniques yourself.” Tréville added.  

 

“Very well, open the door!” Rochefort ordered his men,  ignoring Tréville’s innuendo  about __ his imprisonment by the Spanish .

 

        Aramis who had listened to the whole talk still had the feeling that something was wrong, now he suddenly realised what it was: it was too silent. He didn’t hear any noise in the room. O’Sullivan was too stubborn to patiently wait for questioning, he should have been pounding on the heavy door, shouting and menacing. Could it be that he had escaped again. 

 

        He tried to stay calm as the Red Guard with the pistol slowly turned the key in the lock. Aramis was ready to jump into action and to open the door faster but Tréville’s glance in his direction calmed him again. Finally the door was opened. Tréville entered the room first, Aramis was directly behind him and collided with his commanding officer as his Captain suddenly stopped. 

 

“Aramis, get Lemay, now!” He shouted at his medic, who couldn’t see anything.

 

“Why?” Aramis asked confused.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	54. Something is wrong.

⚔⚔

  


         Milady curiously watched the Duke of Savoy with his wife and their little boy standing in the courtyard. His wife seemed to be ready to return to Savoy. All her belongings had been lined up by pages, ready to be loaded into several coaches, which were already waiting in the small courtyard of the palace. The Duke of Savoy approached his wife and gesticulated wildly.

 

“I am sorry, my darling, but we can’t leave.”

 

“I thought you wanted to leave as soon as possible?” His wife asked confused. “You could have told me earlier. Now what? Are we staying longer?” Christine asked with an angry voice.

 

“Yes, er … we will stay until Monday.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Er … because I still had some important business to attend to, that couldn’t wait and now I am waiting for an answer?” He tried to explain.

 

“Are you still hoping for a better treaty with Spain?” Christine shook her head. “Is that why you have been into the city several times? Believe me my brother has given us better conditions.” She lamented.

 

“It’s not that!” The Duke tried to avoid her questioning. “Let’s not discuss this in front of the pages, but in our quarters.” He asked in a polite tone to his wife.

 

        It was obvious that he had something to hide. His eyes scanned the courtyard and he caught a glimpse of a shadow at one of the windows. Milady stepped back from the window.

 

_What is this all about? First he is complaining everywhere that he wants to leave as soon as possible and now he is staying for several more days. He has even forgotten to tell his wife about it. Why did he changed his plans so urgently? Has it really something to do with the Spanish? Are they planning an attack against King Louis? Has Athos overheard the Duke of Savoy talking with some Spaniards about a complott? Is that the reason why he was poisoned? I need to find out more? Damn, I think he has seen me. I need to leave._

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Tréville stepped aside to let Aramis have a better look. Rochefort who was standing next to him, glanced curiously into the room too.

 

“I will fetch him for you!” Rochefort told both stunned and speechless Musketeers and hurried away.

 

        Aramis blinked several times, his dark eyes unbelievingly staring at the floor. He quickly reached for a handkerchief in his pocket as an acrid odour invaded his nostrils. Tréville had the same reaction and the two men gingerly stepped into the room. O’Sullivan was lying on the parquet floor, curled on himself, his whole body forming a strange heap, an arm was clenched around his belly and a hand seemed to have gripped a painful area between his chest and his throat. His face was hidden from the view of the two Musketeers. His upper body was under a dark wooden table opposite to the door. It seemed that he had tried to call for help or to ring the bell dangling from a large embroidered ribbon above the table. While Rochefort hurried away, Aramis bent down, checking the lifeless body of the Irishman. His head was pressed on the wooden floor which was soiled by a puddle of vomit. Swallowing convulsively against the nausea rising in his throat, Aramis softly took him by the shoulders and turned his body. The head of O’Sullivan lolled and Aramis and Tréville could clearly see his face. O’Sullivan’s mouth was wide open, a white foam had formed on each corner and covered his chin. The man wasn’t breathing anymore. His pale blue eyes darkened by enlarged pupils were open in an expression of pure horror and fear. Aramis put his ear to O’Sullivan’s mouth, but nothing, then he checked for a pulse, a heartbeat, but he couldn’t feel anything. The lips of the Irishman had turned blue, his ears had the same tinge and the hand pressing his chest tightly was white.

 

“He is dead!” Aramis quietly said to Tréville, while the two Red Guards looked uneasy, but didn’t say a word.

 

“Has anybody been with him in this room?” Tréville thundered suddenly, while angrily taking several steps into the direction of the two Red Guards.

 

“We … I …” One of the men stammered, while the other tried to escape Tréville’s wrathful stare.   

 

“Speak!” The Captain shouted.

 

“After Rochefort left he had no contact with any other person.” The first man said.

 

“Really? Nobody else came here?”

 

“No, Sir!” Both Red Guards exclaimed.

 

“Captain!” Aramis tried to get Tréville’s attention again. “Look there are some leaves of a plant and a letter on the table.”

 

Tréville ignored the Red Guards and moved next to Aramis who was now looking at the contents on the table.

 

“I’m not sure, but the leaves could be from the plant called foxglove.” Aramis mused. “It can cause a heart attack.” He slowly added. “What about the letter?” Tréville wanted to know.

 

“It’s written in French, in a very small handwriting.” Aramis bend down over it. “It looks like a confession.” Aramis read some words, but he stopped as he realised that the Red Guards were still standing in the room.

 

“We have to wait for Lemay with the plant. Take the letter with you, Aramis. We will have a closer look at it at the garrison.” Tréville ordered in a whispering tone.

 

        The Captain of the Musketeers tried to stay calm.

 

 _Either somebody else has killed this Irishman and Athos is still in danger or O’Sullivan has killed himself. Rochefort was a fool, leaving him behind in this room, without taking those plants away from him._   

 

        Aramis glared at the Red Guards.

 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear him screaming or shouting for help in the last two hours?” He said with a dangerous glare, approaching the two stupid and stupefied guards.

 

        He felt the urgent need to punch someone. All the answers he probably could have obtained from O’Sullivan were gone by now. Of course there was a letter and his name was at the bottom of it, but a letter could have been forged. He had no time to read it properly. The words written in the first line were:

 ** _I, James O’Sullivan confess, that I have poisoned several men and women here in Paris. My intention was to revenge the murder of my brother-in-arms Gallagher, who was murdered by the Musketeer Athos last year. Tréville knew exactly why he wanted to have a closer look and not with those two fools around. The whole situation was suspect_**.

 

_O’Sullivan a Catholic Irish soldier wouldn’t commit suicide? Would he? And the fact that he seems to have tried to reach the door or the bell tends to prove that he didn’t want to die, or that he had regrets in the last moment …_

 

        The thoughts were blending inside his mind. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples with his thumbs. He didn’t know that much about the Irishman, how religious he was, but committing suicide was a sin.

 

“Answer my man’s question!” Tréville ordered with a loud voice, while both Red Guards had ignored Aramis’ question.

 

“Well, we heard him shouting but it was not French and we thought he was angry about being locked up and your direct orders and the orders of our Captain had been to ignore him and to guard this door.” The man with the pistol explained.

 

        The Captain of the Musketeers shook his head unbelievingly.

 

_What is it today, fools are around me everywhere? Is it full moon?_

 

        Tréville heard footsteps in the corridor and several seconds later Rochefort appeared with Lemay. The doctor immediately bent down over the body of O’Sullivan. Tréville stepped away to talk to Rochefort while he could hear the distant voice of Aramis filling Lemay in. He could hear the words foxglove and digitalis. He looked angrily at Rochefort.

 

“How could this happen?” He pointed to the corpse.

 

“I removed all knives and other weapons from his room, before I left him, but I wasn’t aware that he still had his poisonous plants with him, I never expected him to commit suicide.” Rochefort explained in a low voice.

 

“What makes you think that it was suicide?” Tréville asked Rochefort.

 

“Well, my guards were standing the whole time in front of this door which was closed, I locked it myself, so nobody could have gone near him.” Rochefort explained. “Besides there are leaves on the desk and if I recall correctly there was a letter.”

 

        Rochefort glimpsed in the direction of the desk.

 

“Strange, I could swear that there was a letter on the desk earlier.” Rochefort looked irritated.

 

“Yes, there was a letter, we have decided to take it with us to have a closer look.”

 

“So, I assume that it was a suicide note or a confession.” Rochefort told Tréville. “Am I wrong?”

 

“It looks like a suicide note, but we have to investigate further.” Tréville told the Captain of the Red Guards.

 

        Tréville had to brace himself, the slippery mood of Rochefort made him even more angry.

 

“Tréville, you should look more relaxed, if we have a confession, there won’t be a perpetrator anymore. So no immediate threat to our King, our Queen or any other member of the court. If you don’t need me any longer, I will go to the King and inform him.” Rochefort bowed slightly without averting his eyes from Tréville’s and turned around.

 

“I would like to inform the King myself!” Tréville told him with a strict sound in a harsh voice. “I’ll have a closer look at the letter later, first. No need to hurry such an important investigation, don’t you think, Rochefort?” Tréville added quietly.

 

“As you wish! Of course, better safe than sorry!” The Captain of the Red Guards added. Then he turned around, signalling his two men to follow him.

 

        Tréville was glad that Rochefort finally left.

 

“Doctor, what can you tell me?”

 

        Tréville asked turning his attention to the man who was now kneeling on the floor. Lemay who was still bent over O’Sullivan, stood up again.

 

“I have already told Aramis that I think that the foxglove killed him. He must have taken a high dose. You can see that his body tried to fight it. The vomit on the floor is a sign.”

 

“Can you say if he was murdered or if it was suicide?”

 

“I'm sorry, I cannot tell you.” Lemay explained. “I don’t see any signs of a struggle that he maybe was forced to take it, I only see those leaves on the desk. And I have heard of a letter …?”

 

“Yes.” Tréville nodded.

 

“So, it is probable that he committed suicide if no one had any contact with him before, but someone else could have given him the poison too.” Lemay explained.

 

        Tréville sighed loudly. That wasn’t the answer he had wanted to hear. Slowly he looked around the room. Aramis who had followed Tréville’s gaze told him:

 

“There is a hidden door next to this room, but there is no other way out, at least I didn’t find one the last time I was here.”

 

        Tréville opened the hidden door and all three men looked into the smaller room. Aramis went inside and looked around. He couldn’t see anything suspicious, but a pouch and a few books were lying on the floor. The window was closed. He knelt down to have a closer look at the black leather pouch.

 

“There are some more plants in it.” He said.

 

        Lemay moved next to him. “May I?” The doctor asked. Aramis passed him the pouch and the doctor carefully had a closer look.

 

“Besides the plants, I can see foxglove leaves, there are small bottles with other tinctures.”

 

        He took one of the small bottles which was empty in his delicate hand. Then he stepped nearer to the closed window and tried to decipher the label written in a small handwriting. With the spare sun rays which entered the room he was finally able to read it.

 

“The label of this empty bottle says _digitalis_. It is another name for foxglove. He could have easily drank the whole content in one go, left this room and waited for the first symptoms to come in the other room.” Lemay shook his head angrily.

 

        Tréville, who had entered the room last, bent down over the books. He tried to find out what they were about, but they all seemed to be written in English. He was just about to stand up again when he noticed a small ray of light on the floor that didn’t come from the window. Curiously he searched with his eyes where this light could come from. He followed the small ray of light leading him to a small gap in the wall.

 

“What’s that?” He asked more to himself.

 

        Lemay and Aramis turned around. The Captain ran his hand on the surface of the wall and found another hidden, but closed door.

 

“It seems that there is another hidden door, but I am not sure, how it opens.” Tréville explained.

 

        Lemay stepped next to him and pushed with his hand against it several times and with a creaking noise the wooden door opened suddenly. Behind it all three men could see another dark corridor flooded by a small ray of light. Tréville couldn’t help but groaning out loud.

 

“This can’t be true!” Aramis shouted.

 

“It must be an old passage for the pages leading parallel to the corridor I just came along.” Lemay analysed critically.

 

“There are lots of those hidden doors in the palace.” Tréville agreed.

 

“Shall I check where the corridor leads to?” Aramis asked.

 

“No, Aramis, not now. If there has been a second person in O’Sullivan’s room he must have been gone for hours by now.” Tréville looked tiredly. “Let’s return to the garrison. There are two possibilities, either O’Sullivan was murdered then the murderer could have come this way or O’Sullivan committed suicide. We need to have a closer look at the letter.”

 

“Why didn’t O’Sullivan escape through this door?” Aramis mused loud.

 

“Maybe he didn’t know about this door. Look, when it is closed you barely can see that there is a door.” Lemay explained closing the door again.

 

        Tréville returned to the other room, where O’Sullivan was still lying on the floor. He felt his headache returning. They had been so close to finally receiving an answer.

 

_Did O’Sullivan really commit suicide? If he has then it is over and Athos is safe, but if he hasn’t … I have to investigate this letter, the wording, the text itself. And it’s wrong to be here right now, I should be at the garrison, supporting my men, protecting Athos …_

 

“Doctor!” Tréville looked at the younger man. “May I ask you to come with us and check on my men and especially Athos. There was a fire earlier at the garrison ...” Tréville paused.

 

“Of course, I will make arrangements here.” Lemay pointed at the dead corpse. “And then I will come to the garrison at once. I heard about the fire. How many men have been injured? Lemay asked. “I hope Athos is alright?”

 

        Aramis filled him in quickly, while Tréville had already felt the need to leave and return to the garrison.

 

“Alright, we will see you later.” Tréville said his goodbyes and gave Aramis a sign to follow him.

 

        As they stepped outside into the corridor Aramis had another feeling that they were being watched. He turned around, but he couldn’t hear or see anything, then he went over to one of the windows. He looked into the inner garden of the palace. It was a beautiful day and it was still warm. He spotted a person in the gardens, walking out of the palace to a big tree next to a small fountain. As he looked a second time he recognised that it was Milady.

 

_Is she playing with us the whole time? Or did she poison and kill O’Sullivan because he tried to kill Athos? I have to read this letter, this suicide note._

 

        Aramis checked if he had the two pages with him, then he followed Tréville who was nearly running back to their horses.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Tréville was furious. As soon as he entered the courtyard he jumped from his horse and rushed the steps up to his office. He ignored the scene around him, men helping to bring in new bales for the new infirmary and stables, people carrying burnt planks, a noisy busy hive. They still had to wait to build both parts up again. D’Artagnan who was standing in the courtyard giving orders turned around and looked questioningly at Aramis, who just jumped from his horse too.

 

“What is it?” He asked.

 

“You better follow me.” Aramis advised the young man.

 

        They both rushed behind Tréville, who seemed to be far away in his thoughts. Angrily their Captain pushed his door open only to slam it behind him. Aramis and d’Artagnan paused looking confused at the now closed wooden door. Inside Porthos woken up from his sleep was agitated as he first looked at Athos, who was still sleeping and then his hand wandered to his pistol. Tréville froze. Suddenly he realised what he just did.

 

“I am sorry!” He quietly mumbled to Porthos and worriedly looked at Athos’ sleeping figure.

 

“I didn’t want to wake you. Should I be concerned that Athos hasn’t woken up?” He looked questioningly in Porthos direction.

 

        Porthos raised himself and bent over Athos, slowly he checked Athos’ forehead.

 

“He has a raised temperature but no fever and he is still very sleepy. Maybe it is a good sign that he hasn’t woken from the loud noise.” Porthos blinked.

 

        He could see Tréville’s angry reddish face.

 

“What has happened at the palace? You look like you have seen a ghost. Has O’Sullivan confessed?” He quietly asked, while his right hand rested protectively on Athos’ shoulder.

 

        Tréville moved next to him, his eyes scanning Athos’ weak figure. He could hear his soft breathing. His Lieutenant seemed to be alright.

 

_I have to calm myself. I have to gather my thoughts. I nearly woke Athos … I need sleep, we all need …_

 

“I will tell you soon, but I will fetch Aramis and d’Artagnan first and maybe … yes I will ask Serge for some food and wine too, we all need our strength.” He explained. “And Lemay will come soon to check on Athos and the other men who were injured.” He added.

 

“Why don’t I fetch Aramis and d’Artagnan and you wait here, Captain?” Porthos suggested already standing up and looking for his boots.

 

“No, it’s alright!” Tréville assured Porthos. “You are injured, your body needs the rest, too.”

 

        Tréville returned to the door he had just slammed shut and opened it. He wasn’t surprised to see Aramis and d’Artagnan standing on the threshold, both men looked at him questioningly.

 

“Come in!” He said. “I will be back in a minute.”

 

“Where are you going?” D’Artagnan asked their Captain, while Tréville was already descending the stairs.

 

“To check on the other injured men and I will ask Serge for some food.” And with these words he hurried away.

 

“Can you please tell me now, what’s going on?” D’Artagnan asked Aramis curiously.

 

“We will wait for Tréville!” Aramis said firmly, still sorting out his emotions. “Come on, let’s check on Porthos and Athos.” He added entering Tréville’s office.

 

        Porthos looked questioningly at his both friends.

 

“What’s up with Tréville?”   

 

“I will explain soon!” Aramis told him. “How are you?”

 

“Better. I would have never thought it but your honey salve seems to work and I have slept the last two hours so I am probably better than you Aramis!” He looked at the tired medic.

 

        He noticed the exhaustion of his friend, the dark rings under his eyes and Aramis’  bad mood. A sign that his friend was overtired.

 

“I can sleep tonight!” Aramis angrily answered Porthos.

 

“You sound like our grumpy Comte!” Porthos tried to joke.

 

“How is he?” Aramis asked Porthos. “I thought Tréville’s loud closing of the door would have woken him.” Worriedly he sat on Porthos’ bed and bent down over his sleeping friend.

 

“He has slept the whole time. I think he is still very tired.” Porthos told him.

 

        Aramis checked Athos’ forehead, his breathing and pulse.

 

“He seems to be alright. Doctor Lemay will come soon. I think it’s the best to let him sleep until then. He must be extremely exhausted if even Tréville’s loud mood couldn’t wake him.” Aramis stated with a soft chuckle.

 

        He stroked Athos’ shoulder and decided to sit next to his friend and wait for the return of their Captain. He turned around to d’Artagnan who was still standing in the doorframe.

 

“Has anything suspicious or strange occurred while we were away?” Aramis asked.

 

“No.” D’Artagnan said, now moving next to his friends and sitting down on Porthos’ bed.

 

        Concerned, he looked into the direction of his sleeping mentor.

 

“We have started to bring the horses to another stable for the night and we have gathered men from the neighbourhood to help us with clearing the stable and the infirmary. We will wait a night, so that the rest of the blaze can extinguish and on Monday we will start with rebuilding the stable and the infirmary.” He explained.

 

“That sounds like a good plan!” All three men heard from the door.

 

        Their Captain re-entered his office, closing his door silently and walked over to his desk. With a loud sigh he dropped on his chair.

 

“Come over to my desk. I think we can talk there quietly without waking Athos.” He said in a low voice.

 

        Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan followed him.

 

“Aramis have you already told them what has happened at the palace?” Tréville asked.

 

“No, I thought the best would be to wait for you.” Tréville nodded understandingly to Aramis thoughtfulness.

 

“Has O’Sullivan confessed?” Porthos wanted to know.

 

“This, my friend, is the question we have to find out now.” Aramis was reaching in his jacket and pulling out the letter.

 

“What’s that?” D’Artagnan wanted to know.

 

“It is a written confession, but I haven’t read the whole two pages yet, only the beginning.” Aramis explained.

 

“So you have forced O’Sullivan to write his confession?” Porthos asked confused.

 

“No, we found this letter on the desk in O’Sullivan’s room. The Irishman himself was lying dead on the floor. Either he poisoned himself or he was poisoned, we still don’t know.” Tréville sighed quietly.

 

        D’Artagnan and Porthos stared unbelievingly at their Captain then at Aramis.

 

“Maybe it’s best that I tell you from the beginning.” Aramis suggested.

 

        As the other men didn’t say anything he simply started his report. From time to time Aramis glanced over to Athos but the swordsman was sunk in a deep sleep. As Aramis finally ended d’Artagnan and Porthos stared at him.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Porthos asked insecure.

 

“I wish he was?” Tréville answered. “But I am afraid, he is not.”

 

“This does mean …” D’Artagnan added.

 

“ … that we still don’t know if he is behind the attacks against Athos or not.” Porthos concluded.

 

“Well, we have the letter.” Aramis pointed to the two pages he had put on Tréville’s desk earlier. “We should have a closer look at the text and O’Sullivan’s confession. Captain would you like to read it …” Aramis was interrupted by a loud moan coming from Athos followed by a loud scream that made all four men jump.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_Something is wrong._

_Rustlings of leaves, pounding of hooves._

_And silence. A delusive silence._

_Clatter of metal, breath of men._

_And again silence. A hurting silence._

_The wind whistles, twigs are breaking,_

_And silence making the galloping heart burst in one’s chest._

_Something is wrong._

_Someone is missing._

_Somebody is watching._

_Am I seeing things?_

_Something is wrong, but what?_

_I need to do something,_

_I don’t know what?_

_I must reach for it._

_Pain. Why does it hurt so much?_

_Reach for what?_

_A black eye is staring at me, coming nearer and nearer and I am frozen._

_I can’t move ..._

_A black hole is luring me into death._

_Explosions._

_Running … I run. He runs._

_A black hole.  
_ _A black hole staring at me._

_Time has stopped,_

_Everything has stopped._

_Something is wrong._

_Everything has stopped._

_The black hole tells me that I am going to die._

_His eyes tell me that I am going to die._

_Something is wrong._

_Smoke. Explosion. Death._

_Next to me, next to my face a burning sensation on my skin._

_Pain, unbearable pain._

_I will miss you my friends._

_The dark hole is around me, no time to escape, strangers around me, driving me in this hole._

_Pain, why does it hurt so much?_

_I am falling, falling, falling …_

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	55. Let me go!

⚔⚔

  
  


        Aramis was the first to respond to Athos’ loud scream. He jumped out of the chair,  quickly reached Athos’ bed and knelt beside him. The others followed and waited from a distance.

 

“Athos, my friend, what is it?” Aramis asked softly, but Athos didn’t answer. 

 

        His eyes were closed, his jaws were clenched. Aramis spotted sweat on his friend’s forehead and chest. He softly touched Athos’ forehead with his hand. He could feel the warm temperature, no fever, but definitely a raised temperature. Athos fitfully rolled from one side to the other. He was lying on his back and the pillow that had supported his wound had fallen down.

 

“Athos?” Aramis tried it again, a bit louder this time.

 

“I think he is having a nightmare.” D’Artagnan silently mouthed. “ I have seen him in this state before.”

 

“Then it’s better if I try to wake him. The pillow that has supported his back has fallen down, because he is too agitated and his moving around must hurt him.” Aramis sighed.

 

“Athos, wake up!” He softly shook Athos’ right shoulder. 

 

“No, stay … away!” Athos spoke in his sleep. With his right hand he slapped Aramis hand away.

 

“Easy Athos!” Aramis tried to calm him. “You’ve had a nightmare, it’s me. Wake up.”

 

“You will pay … for this … you will …” Athos shouted angrily.

 

        Tréville and Porthos shared confused looks, while d’Artagnan went next to Athos and knelt at Aramis’ side. 

 

“Athos, calm, you’ve had a nightmare. It’s me, d’Artagnan, you are safe!” He whispered into the swordsman’s ear.

 

“Liar … you don’t fool … me.” He tried to hit d’Artagnan with his fist, but Porthos who was now standing behind his two kneeling friends was faster and grabbed it.

 

“You don’t want to punch d’Artagnan a second time!” He stated firmly. 

 

        Athos tried to free his hand, but Porthos didn’t let go.

 

“Let him!” Aramis tried to intervene, but Porthos fastened his grip. 

 

“He has to wake up.” Porthos explained. “This nightmare is not good for him. Look at his face, it is sweaty and he’s beginning to have trouble with his breathing again.” Porthos added anxiously. 

 

“I know that, but I will try to wake him differently.” Aramis explained, but Porthos shook his head, then he turned to Athos and shouted.

 

“Athos! Stop it! You are safe! Wake up, damn you!” 

 

        Athos tried to free himself and took his left hand to free his right hand, so Porthos gripped it too. 

 

_ Let me go?  _

_ What’s going on? I can hear voices. Aramis … d’Artagnan … Porthos. _

_ Why is Porthos shouting at me? _

_ My hands … why can’t I move my hands … something strong is holding them … _

_ Why … _

_ There is another person … someone who tried … it was a dream … only a dream. _

_ Porthos, it’s Porthos holding my hands … he is agitated, afraid.  _

_ Stop that … I have to tell him that he hasn’t to be afraid …  _

 

        Confused, Athos started to show signs of waking up. He sluggishly opened his eyes and blinked several times, while trying to work out where he was.

 

“Wha ... ?” He slurred, catching for breath.

 

        Porthos now bent down over him, while Aramis and d’Artagnan moved to the side.

 

“There you are.” Porthos smiled. “You had a nightmare. Calm! You are safe!”

 

“Where …?” Athos squeezed his eyes shut while Porthos let go of his hands, which dropped back onto the mattress. 

 

“In my office.” Tréville helped from the background.

 

        Athos groaned aloud feeling an itch in his back.

 

“Where does it hurt you?” Aramis asked softly, he couldn’t hide the concern in his voice.

 

“My back … it feels like … I’ve pulled … the stitches …” Athos slowly explained, while another groan escaped his lips.

 

“I will check, wait!” Aramis said to him, pressing his shoulder. 

 

        Then he advised Porthos and d’Artagnan to help him turn Athos onto his stomach. Carefully, he removed the bandages and checked the healing wound.

 

“Your stitches are still intact.” He softly said. “I will put on some more salve and then you will drink this pain potion. While you were dreaming you rolled around, I think your back perhaps collided with a hard part of the bed.”

 

        Aramis fetched his salve, which was standing on a small table nearby. Athos closed his eyes. He knew that all the other eyes were now staring at him.

 

“What was your dream about?” Porthos tried to break the silence.

 

“I don’t know?” Athos muffled voice came from under the pillow. 

 

        He tried to recall his dream, but he had no idea. 

 

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

 

“What for?” Tréville asked assuring his Lieutenant that he needn’t to be sorry.

 

        Aramis returned next to Athos and started to have a closer look at the stitched wound. He touched the red spot. Athos breathed in deeply suppressing another moan. 

 

“I don’t see any signs of infection yet Athos, but the wound is sore.” Aramis explained. 

 

        Then he put on some new salve. The cool salve felt good on the closed wound. Athos blinked his eyes.  

 

“Try to stay awake Doctor Lemay is on his way. I will wait to bandage it anew. He’ll have a closer look too. You seem to have a slightly raised temperature and I want him to check it. Do you think you can sit up with your back against the wall, with some pillows to support you?” Aramis asked his bedridden friend.

 

“I can give it a try, but I guess I will need help.” Athos admitted with a raspy voice.

 

        While d’Artagnan and Porthos helped Athos to sit on the bed, Tréville returned to his desk. He opened the letter and started to read it. In the background he could hear the soft moaning and complaining of Athos as Aramis tried to convince his friend to drink a pain potion. Tréville faded the voices of his men out and stared at the written pages. He had to read it a second time. In this letter O’Sullivan really admitted that he had tried to kill Athos to avenge his friend Gallagher. He had come to Paris after he had heard of the death of his brother-in-arms. He found out that Athos had killed him. The seamstress was his first victim. He didn’t want to leave any trace that would lead back to him, so he poisoned her too. Then he poisoned the young court-lady who had fallen ill of the flu to draw attention away from Athos’ poisoning. When Aramis started to question him more closely, he poisoned the nobleman as well to draw the attention away from his real victim. The letter ended with the words. 

 

_ I deeply regret my sins, I never wanted to kill innocent women and men. I  figured out that Athos was acting on the order of his King and that the real perpetrator was a woman, but I couldn’t find her. I feel ashamed. I know that my soul will end in hell and so I shall spare you a trial and kill myself with foxglove. _

 

        The letter was signed with James O’Sullivan. Tréville put the two pages down. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair.

 

_ He could have written it? The facts sound plausible. But was O’Sullivan really a man who would kill himself?    _

 

        Tréville was brought back from his thoughts as he heard an angry Athos shouting at Aramis. 

 

“Leave me alone!” 

 

        Followed by Aramis’ angry litany on how stubborn his Lieutenant was. D’Artagnan stayed quiet, while Porthos tried to intervene. The voices became louder and louder. Exhausted, Tréville stood up and walked over to his four Musketeers.

 

“Aramis, stop tormenting Athos!” He exclaimed.

 

“I only said that he has to take another coffee potion, but he doesn’t want to.” Aramis tried to explain.

 

“I cannot sleep after I have taken it and I need to sleep, Aramis. I am tired. I am so tired, can’t you see that?” Athos tried to explain. “Can’t I just lay down again and sleep?”

 

        A deep frown creased his forehead in his effort to make Aramis understand. His teary eyes were looking at him with a pleading expression but Aramis was standing in front of him, his arms crossed in the stance of a strict teacher.

 

“Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan, I think it’s about time that you went back to your own rooms and catch some important sleep. At least five hours, then you come back to my office.” Tréville ordered.

 

“But …” Aramis tried to argue.

 

“Come Aramis, you heard the Captain!” Porthos pushed his overtired friend towards the door. 

 

“Athos needs sleep and rest. You have given him the pain potion. I’m sure that Lemay can decide about the coffee later.” He urged Aramis to leave.

 

        He knew very well that Athos was ready to explode. He hated when Aramis fussed over him too much and their medic was too exhausted to see that his actions drove his patient insane.

 

“I can stay.” D’Artagnan offered. 

 

“It’s alright young man. I think I can handle him.” Tréville pointed with his finger at Athos. 

 

        Annoyed the swordsman rolled his eyes but didn’t say another word. Reluctantly d’Artagnan followed his Captain’s order. As he shut the door behind him silence settled in Tréville’s office. Athos was still sitting in an upright position on Tréville’s bed. His shirt had been removed to help Aramis to have a better look at his wound. A new bandage was still missing. Tréville could see Athos shivering, while his face and chest were still covered with a layer of sweat.

 

“I will help you with the bandage and then I would suggest that you put your shirt on and sleep a little longer.” Tréville said to Athos while he was looking for the fresh bandage which Aramis already had prepared. 

 

        Athos only nodded gratefully, he closed his eyes, while his Captain started to bandage him. The fabric felt odd on his skin, but Tréville had warmed his hands, so he didn’t feel uncomfortable.

 

“Has O’Sullivan confessed?” Athos suddenly asked Tréville.

 

        Tréville was a little surprised about the question, but he realised that Athos must have worked out where they went to after the fire was extinguished. 

“That’s ... complicated.” Tréville sighed, while fastening the bandage with a knot. “Is it too tight?” He asked Athos, while looking for the shirt, which was soaked.

 

“No, it’s fine!” Athos said to him. 

 

        He opened his eyes again and looked straight in Tréville’s fatigued face.

 

“Why is it complicated?” Athos wanted to know stifling a yawn.

 

“Rest now, I will tell you as soon as I’ve had time to work it out for myself. You are safe! That’s all that matters for me right now. Rest, sleep. I’ll wake you, when Lemay is here.” Tréville ordered, while he softly wiped the sweat on Athos’ chest and forehead away. 

 

_ Safe … I know I am … and weak … and useless … I can’t even help them … They spend their days and nights caring for me … What am I? A Musketeer? Ah! What a fierce Musketeer I am, unable to protect himself when his task is to protect others! … When will it stop? …  _

 

        After Tréville had finished cleaning Athos’ chest, he fetched him one of his fresh shirts and helped him to put it on, then he helped his officer to lie down on his back, with a soft pillow under his sore back. Athos groggily closed his eyes and fell asleep without asking a second time.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Athos drifted in and out of sleep as Doctor Lemay bent down over him and started his examination. Tréville was next to him. His pale blue eyes noticed every move but he said nothing. He seemed to be distracted, but Lemay didn’t want to push him, the Captain of the Musketeers had too many things going on right now. He had seated himself on the second bed and waited patiently while Lemay continued checking Athos’ state of health. 

 

“Athos, can you hear me?” Lemay asked him in a normal voice . 

 

        The Lieutenant groaned and tried to turn himself on his stomach. Lemay stopped him moving around by putting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Can you tell me where it hurts you the most?” Lemay tried again, but Athos stayed silent. 

 

        The swordsman could hear a voice in the distance but he ignored it. Everything was blurred. He felt the throbbing in his back and a hand touching his shoulder.

 

“Go away … I wanna … sleep …” He slurred.

 

“Athos, wake up!” Lemay ordered in a strict tone. 

 

“Mmm …” Athos breathed but his eyes stayed closed.

 

“He is very sleepy and fatigued all day long. Now and then he wakes up. He collapsed after the fire, but I can try to wake him for you.” Tréville softly explained.

 

“No, Captain, I will check him over while he is sleeping. We can try to wake him after I checked his wound but you can help me with turning him onto his stomach.” 

 

        Softly both men turned Athos on his belly so Lemay could examine the knife wound better. 

 

“Has he said something about the pain level of the wound?” Lemay asked.

 

“I am not sure, but he feared earlier that his stitches might have been pulled, but Aramis assured him that they were still intact.” Tréville explained, while Lemay softly touched the healing wound with his fingers.

 

“I don’t see any infection yet, but it’s a little swollen here.” Lemay pointed at one of the stitches. “Tell Aramis to have a closer look at it later. If it changes and pus forms we’ll have to reopen it.” He added with a concerned voice that Tréville didn’t like to hear.

 

“I will. How many times shall we check?” He asked.

 

“Maybe later tonight and tomorrow morning again.” Lemay stated while putting some new salve on the healing wound and bandaging it again. “I want to see the rash on his chest next.” He then explained. 

 

        Tréville helped him to lay Athos on his back again. The soldier moaned but didn’t open his eyes. Tréville sat next to Athos’ head.

 

“Athos, the doctor is here. He is examining you.” He softly explained, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

 

        Athos didn’t respond, but started to breath uneven as Lemay lifted his shirt and put  his palm on his chest.

 

“The rash is finally healing. You can only see a small mark left. That’s good, and his heartbeat is stronger than the last days.” Lemay added after feeling for Athos’ heartbeat and then bending his ear on Athos’ chest.

 

“Doctor, his breathing!” Tréville asked.

 

“It could be a sign that he is waking up.” Lemay put the shirt back in its previous position. Then he felt Athos’ forehead. 

 

“Hmm … it’s warmer than I would like it. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. You said he and Porthos had to flee from the flames and that he walked to the well and after that he passed out?”

 

        Tréville nodded.

 

“Alright, let’s wake him up!”

 

“Athos, can you hear me?” Lemay asked louder than before. 

 

        Still no response.

 

“Athos?” Tréville helped. “Can you open your eyes, son?”

 

_ Voices … hands on my body … I know these voices … Tréville … he wants something from me, but what … it’s dark … I want to sleep … the man … he is behind me … he tries to …  _

_ Go away, leave me alone, leave her alone … _

_ I can’t … I can’t help her … she is dead … because of me … _

_ Captain … leave me alone … I am not worthy … ouch … _

 

        Lemay had slapped Athos on his cheek and he could see the fluttering of Athos’ closed eyelids. The first sign of waking, but the Lieutenant showed signs of drifting off again.

 

_ Go away … stop hurting the people I love … stop it … Anne? _

_ Ouch …  _

 

“Wake up, Athos!” Lemay pushed the knuckles of his right hand on Athos’ sternum. Appalled the young Musketeer opened his mouth catching for breath.

 

“Leave me … alone.” Athos whispered. 

 

“I can’t do this right now, Athos. Open your eyes for me. I have to check them.” Lemay said softly. 

 

        Athos ignored him.

 

“Go … away!” He mumbled now more coherent, but in his thoughts he still saw a man chasing him. 

 

        Who was he? He tried to focus his mind on the picture, but everything he had seen clearly before was now blurred and turned black. He felt dizziness rising in him and the urgent feeling to vomit. He tried to swallow, to hold it down, he choked the salvia down and coughed, gasping for air. Tréville sensing his officer’s distress acted fast and rolled Athos’ onto his side, while Lemay pounded his back. The dizziness left him again and Athos was grateful that he hadn’t vomited again. Sluggishly he half opened his eyes . 

 

“Better?” Lemay asked carefully. Athos merely nodded and wanted to close his eyes again.

 

“Stay awake Athos! The doctor wants to talk to you.” 

 

“I want to sleep. I am so tired!” Athos whispered to Tréville.

 

“I am sure that you can sleep soon again. Only some questions.” Tréville pressed Athos’ hand encouragingly and it worked. 

 

        Athos opened his eyes wider. Slowly, very slowly he became aware of his surroundings. Tréville, his office, Lemay, but his brothers were nowhere to be seen. Curiously he turned his head, looking for them.

 

“What are you looking for?” Lemay asked his patient.

 

“Aramis?” Athos asked. “The others?”

 

“I have sent them to catch some needed sleep.” Tréville explained. “They are alright!”

 

“Do you know where you are? What day is today? What happened earlier?” Lemay asked.

 

        Athos blinked his eyes.

 

“There was a fire, Porthos … he was hurt … his arm and O’Sullivan …” Athos said, while images and voices flooded his mind.

 

“Yes, that’s good, Athos!” Lemay pressed his shoulder. “I need to check your eyes, then you should eat some more broth and after that I will let you sleep again.” Lemay explained. 

 

        The doctor continued his caring while Tréville watched his young soldier enduring the fussing over him without saying a word, complaining or groaning. His face was still pale, his green eyes were bloodshot, which made them even more intense, it was obvious that Athos had to fight hard to keep his eyelids open. His long fingers, which were holding a spoon were still much too white, still cold and they started to tremble after he had eaten a few spoons of broth. Tréville stood up and helped him, taking the spoon away from him and holding a cup with water, Athos drank eagerly. He was thirsty and that was a good sign, Tréville mused. After Athos had emptied the cup his head fell back on the soft pillow and without saying another word he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again.

 

“Well, Doctor?” Tréville asked.

 

“He is on his road to recovery. His body is still very weak that’s why he wants to sleep, but his eyes are better, his throat isn’t swollen anymore and his heartbeat is strong and regular again.”

 

“So, no fever, no infection?” Tréville asked anxiously while his eyes still searched the face of his Lieutenant for any signs of distress.

 

“I cannot say for sure. The higher temperature could be an indicator, but it could come from his fatigued state as well. As I said before, we need to monitor and watch him closely, but I am sure Aramis can do this later tonight. Athos knows where he is and what has happened today. He simply needs time to recover.”

 

        Tréville sighed out loud. 

 

_ The last time Aramis checked on Athos, it nearly ended with a fight between both men. Is it such a good idea to let Aramis check on Athos tonight? _

 

“You know, Athos isn’t the patient type.” He tried to smile.

 

“I know.” Lemay smiled back, but at least we can say it is over, the man who tried to kill him is dead.” Lemay tried to comfort the Captain.

 

“Why do you think that?”

 

“I allowed myself to investigate the hidden corridor when you left, it was a dead end, there was no exit. I checked from the outside. The former entrance was walled several years ago, I spoke to some pages. Besides he didn’t call for help and he’s left a suicide note, hasn’t he? It’s over, Captain!” Lemay tried to calm Tréville.

 

“If you say so. Thank you for checking on Athos. Have you seen to my other men too?”

 

“Yes Henri, lead me to them first. They will be fine. Some minor burns, Aramis’ salve will help them to recover.” 

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I have to leave, fetch me, if his temperature changes, but for now I think, he will be alright.” Lemay shook Tréville’s hand and left his office.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	56. On the Other Side

 

⚔⚔

  


“Aramis let him sleep!” Tréville ordered a bit too harshly as their medic checked over Athos.

 

“I only want to see if he has a fever.” Aramis silently mouthed back.

 

        His palm was resting on Athos’ forehead, which was still too warm. He had hoped that Athos would show signs of waking, but his friend was gripped in another deep sleep. Tréville silently stepped next to Aramis who jumped, withdrawing his hand. Laying a hand on his shoulder, the Captain whispered:

 

“Lemay left one hour ago. He said that it is normal that Athos is so worn out. You can check  his temperature later. Come Aramis. Let’s talk at my desk.”

 

        They stayed silent and unmoving for a moment, looking at the sleeping man. In spite of the stubble darkening his jaw, in spite of the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, in spite of the crease between his eyes, print of the constant frown marking his forehead when he was awake, Athos seemed so young. His skin was so soft, nearly translucent below the closed eyes. His long dark eyelashes drew light shadows as they fluttered intermittently when dreams or nightmares flooded his mind. His mouth was half-open and his breathing made a light curl of hair dance rhythmically. Aramis reached for it and placed it carefully behind his friend’s ear in a tender gesture, letting the back of his slightly shaking hand brush the sleeping man’s forehead again.  

 

_I don’t like your warm forehead Athos. Something is not right? I wish I could talk to you, but you are sleeping deeply and the Captain is right, I should let you rest. God I am becoming paranoid._

 

        Aramis pressed Athos’ right hand that was lying next to the blanket and which still felt cold,  then he softly put it under it.

 

“I don’t like his forehead feeling so warm, what if infection …” He swallowed hard.

 

“Then the doctor knows what to do next.” Porthos stepped on Aramis’ other side. “Come, let him rest, he told us earlier that he is tired so stop fussing over him.” Porthos directed Aramis over to Tréville’s desk, where d’Artagnan was already waiting.

 

“What does the letter say?” Porthos looked expectantly at his Captain.

 

“Best is if we read it out loud again.” The Captain of the Musketeers sighed and pushed the pages into Aramis direction.

 

“What’s wrong, Captain?” Aramis asked surprised, while taking the sheets in his hand.

 

“It’s … I don’t know … I want to hear your opinion first.”

 

        Aramis looked at the small letters, written beautifully, in perfect French. He slowly started to read the first passage. Not too loud, so that he wouldn’t wake Athos, but loud enough so that they all could follow him.

 

_“I, James O’Sullivan confess, that I have poisoned several men and women here in Paris. My intention was to avenge the murder of my brother-in-arms Gallagher, who was murdered by the Musketeer Athos last year.”_

 

“Woahh …” Porthos exclaimed. “He is really confessing that he has poisoned Athos.”

 

“Has he really written Athos’ name in it?” D’Artagnan asked excited.

 

“Shhh …! Not too loud … we’ll wake him.” Tréville chided them. “Continue to read, Aramis!”

 

         Aramis continued, his voice faltering as he read the next lines. He had to pause and take a shaky breath as his mind took in the meaning of the words.

 

_“I wanted to see Athos suffer, that’s why I poisoned him with belladonna. He should feel the pain I felt before_ _he would rot in hell.”_

 

         Aramis swallowed hard. He tried to ignore all the feelings welling up in his mind.

 

_This bastard … yes Athos had to suffer, to fight for his life for days …_

 

         In the background he could hear Athos’ soft moaning. He put the letter back down on the desk. Without saying a word he stood up and went over to Athos. His friend was sleeping restlessly. He seemed to be gripped by another nightmare. Gently, he checked Athos’ warm forehead then he stroked softly over his thick hair.

 

“Shhh … it’s alright, Athos. You are safe.” But his friend didn’t seem to hear him ...

 

“Aramis ...” He softly groaned. “Don’t … miss …”

 

_Blue the silk of her dress._

_Blue the water of her eyes._

_Blue the still waters where she dances._

_My friend, my brother._

_Dark, his pleading eyes._

_Dark, his guilty eyes._

_Dark, his teary eyes._

_God, it can’t be._

_What have you done?_

_Orange the menace._

_Orange, we are trapped._

_Fire, dust, just one._

_Don’t miss Aramis._

_Just one left._

_We will die._

_Blue his cold eyes._

_He killed her in the orange light._

_He killed your memory,_

_Aramis, don’t miss._

_He must die._

_Blue._

_Blue the sky outside._

_Is it over?_

_Blue the flowers._

_It can’t be._

_Help me!_

 

         A shudder went through Athos’ whole body.

 

“Help … me ...” He slurred.

 

         Aramis blinked his tears away and tried it again. He was so tired of everything. What had they done to deserve such an ordeal? What had Athos done, except his duty?

 

“Shhh … Athos. You are safe. We are all here for you.”

 

         Another soft moan escaped Athos’ lips. He felt Aramis’ hand on his shoulder, that grounded him. Athos drifted away to another dream, but he seemed to be calmer. Reluctantly Aramis left his brother’s side and returned to the table.

 

“This O’Sullivan was a mad man!” He angrily growled.

 

“Is he alright?” Porthos asked looking into Athos’ direction, his usually smooth and round face creased by a frown of worry.

 

“Another nightmare, but I think I calmed him. He is still sleeping and we better let him.” Aramis finished.

 

         Meanwhile, d’Artagnan had reached for the letter and continued reading out loud.

 

_“In order not to reveal myself as the person who was going to poison this soldier, I came up with a plan. I followed the Musketeer to a seamstress’ shop where he left some cloth to be repaired. I made the woman tell me what he wanted and I forced her to poison Athos with a poisoned needle she should push into his chest.”_

“This cruel coward!” Porthos growled angrily. “He had no scruples in killing another person to fulfil his plan.” D’Artagnan exclaimed angrily.

 

“He knew that this way he would get rid of a witness as well. She knew too much.” Aramis unbelievingly shook his head. “He was really a sadist. I am glad that he is dead …”

 

“But how did he force her to do such a malicious deed?” D’Artagnan wanted to know.

 

“Most probably he threatened to kill her family, perhaps her parents or one of her children.” Tréville mused.

 

“So she sacrificed herself to save her family?” Porthos shook his head too.

 

         Disgusted, he wanted to reach for the letter but another moan from Athos made him stop. Tréville stood up.

 

“Continue to read, I already know the whole content. I will check on him.” With these words said he left them and went over to his Lieutenant.

 

         Athos eyelids fluttered, it looked as if he was trying to wake up, but he didn’t open his eyes. New sweat had gathered on his forehead. Softly, Tréville took a cloth and wiped his officer’s pale and tense face.

 

“Shhh … Athos. You are having  a nightmare. Wake up, son!” He whispered softly in his ear.

 

“Cold …” Athos shivered, but he didn’t wake up. He was gripped by another nightmare.

 

_I want to wake up._

_Please. Why is it so cold?_

_Cold and wet._

_Why?_

_Water swirling around my boots._

_Cobbles trapping my feet._

_A dark alley. A hooded figure._

_I remember._

_Why is it so cold?_

_Her eyes. She had grey eyes._

_I remember. So sad grey eyes._

_She is so sorry._

_Why is it so cold?_

_Something is missing._

_My mother’s hands caressing my neck._

_No … no, not her … I can’t remember._

_It hurts. She had grey eyes. Who?_

_Why did she hurt me?_

_Her hands were so graceful._

_She took my scarf._

_I am cold._

_Everything is melting in my mind._

_I want to wake up. I want to ask._

_My chest. Why is it so painful?_

_My heart is a furious horse._

_Please, wake me up… Don’t let me sleep… I need you ..._

 

“Hurts …” Athos slurred and Tréville softly shook his shoulder and tried to wake him up.

 

Another shiver went through Athos’ body and his breathing became more uneven.

 

“Where does it hurt?” Tréville tried again.

 

“My … chest …” Athos mumbled.

 

         His hand sluggishly landed on his chest. It seemed that he tried to grip something. Tréville put his hand on Athos’, sliding his fingers around the slim wrist, which were still cold. He felt an erratic heartbeat under Athos’ white skin.

 

_Not again. His heartbeat is much too fast._

 

         Tréville turned around and quietly called:

 

“Aramis.”

 

         The medic who had been listening to what was going on behind his back stood up and hurried over.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I’m not sure. His heart is beating irregularly and much too fast again.”

 

         He changed places with Aramis, who put his palm on Athos’ chest.

 

“Athos, can you hear me … Athos.” Aramis tried.

 

“My chest … hurts … why is … it so cold … so wet?” He sobbed, but he didn’t wake up.

 

“He’s still dreaming.” Aramis mused. “I think he is dreaming of how he was poisoned. That’s why he is clutching his hand at his chest.” Aramis added slowly.

 

         He softly took Athos’ hand away and then he tried it again.

 

“Athos … calm …”

 

“Hurts … ahhh … chest … my heart …”

 

“He feels his fast heartbeat, but he doesn’t show any signs of waking.” Aramis said frustrated.

 

         Then he had an idea.

 

“D’Artagnan I need you here!” He called his younger brother.

 

         D’Artagnan joined them immediately.

 

“Sit next to Athos and talk some of your Gascon songs and poems. I think it will help him to calm.” Aramis instructed d’Artagnan, who sat down next to Athos’ head and started as advised.

 

         The medic let his palm rest on Athos’ chest and soon he could feel that his heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm. Athos had stopped talking in his sleep and his breathing was more even.

 

_This horrible poison. It’s time that your body_ _is_ _healing completely._

 

         Aramis cursed. He gently pressed Athos’ hand and then he stood up.

 

“Stay with him d’Artagnan. I think he sleeps without those nightmares if someone is sitting with him.”

 

         D’Artagnan nodded in agreement and started to watch over his sick brother while Aramis and Tréville returned to the desk. In the meantime Porthos had started to read the third part of the letter.

 

“I’m not sure, if it is such a good idea to read the letter out loud.” Aramis said. “I think Athos can hear us talking in his sleep and he is reacting to parts of the letter, or maybe his sub-conscious is.” The medic added.

 

“Alas, we have to have a closer look at it but with d’Artagnan next to him and us speaking  more quietly, we can spare him the rest for now.” Tréville suggested.

 

“Why don’t I give you a rough summary of the next part?” Porthos suggested.

 

         Both men nodded and in a whispering tone Porthos continued.

 

“In the next part he is explaining why he poisoned Ana-Josefa. She witnessed him with his plants and tinctures and started to ask questions. He feared that she would gossip too much and as she fell ill with the flu he had the idea to give her some of the belladonna tincture to drink. This way he could make sure that she would be silent forever.

 

“It sickens me to hear this explanation” Aramis said angrily.

 

         He thought of the beautiful young woman. Her amazing but shy smile every time she spotted Athos at the court, during palace guard.

 

_Of course Athos didn’t notice it, because he had decided years ago that …_

         Aramis tried to get rid of these thoughts and shook his head. In the distance he could hear d’Artagnan whispering comforting words into Athos’ ear, calming him, trying to help him to wake from these nasty nightmares.

 

_Wind, whispers,_

_Their feet break twigs._

_Wild fight._

_Why? Why was I too late? Why couldn’t I save her?_

_The whip swings._

_A flash of white._

_She is running. She is fleeing. She is screaming._

_The whip swings. The whip whistles._

_Red on white._

_Why? Why am I always too late?_

_It hurts._

_My back, it hurts! My flesh is broken. My soul is broken._

_He broke me._

_Why? Where are they?_

_Wind, whispers._

_God, it hurts!_

_Wake me up, please, help me ..._

 

“Shhh … Athos! Everything is fine. You are not alone.”

 

         D’Artagnan tried to calm his mentor and it seemed to work. His words, his voice, his softly reciting of a Gascon poem let Athos relax again.

 

_I wish you were awake. Perhaps it would help you to discuss the letter with us? When will those nightmares finally leave you again? It’s time to heal Athos, it’s time to get better. I miss our swordfights. Riding next to each other to another assignment, adventure. Standing guard at the palace and laughing about your sober jokes._

 

         D’Artagnan thought, while he automatically reached for Athos’ hand and was trying to warm the still cold fingers. Behind his back he could hear Aramis and Porthos discussing the next part of the letter, they were whispering in order not to disturb Athos, but he could hear their words nevertheless. Aramis sighed softly.

 

_I have to concentrate on the letter. Is it plausible? Has O’Sullivan really written this as his confession and afterwards committed suicide?_

 

“What else has he written?” Aramis whispered.  

 

         Tréville reached for the second page. His eyes scanned the last paragraph.

 

“He says that he has killed the nobleman with poison too. After you, Aramis, started to suspect him, he had no choice but to try to point you in another direction.”

 

“That’s why the nobleman had to die?” Porthos said angrily. “So many people were murdered only because of one mad man, who wanted to see Athos dead.”

 

         He looked sadly into Athos’ direction. He wanted to go over to his brother, to hug him in his typical bear hug and to tell him that everything was over but he knew that d’Artagnan was more than capable of comforting their brother right now and he feared that his own emotions would leave Athos even more shaken. And was everything really over? Were they so sure that everything would return to normal now?

 

“Alright he confesses that he has poisoned Athos and killed three other innocent people to cover his tracks. But why now? Why didn’t he say anything about it when we asked him earlier? Why did he always tell me that he was innocent?” Aramis enquired.

 

“He says that after being arrested he imagined that he would be hanged. In the last days he has found out that not Athos, but a mysterious woman had ordered Gallagher to kill the Queen. Thus he assumed that Athos was only following orders by protecting his Queen, as every usual soldier would have done. Being a soldier himself he sees his errors. He couldn’t find this woman, who seemed to have worked for the Cardinal, so he deeply regrets his dreadful deeds that he killed innocent women and a man and tried to kill a soldier, who was only fulfilling his duty. He knows that he will end in hell nevertheless. That’s why he spared the King from passing judgement over him and killed himself instead.”

 

         Tréville summarised the last part of the letter.

 

_Light_

_Bright_

_Light hearts_

_Bright days_

_I ended it._

_My right?_

_Her fight._

 

_Summer_

_Murder_

 

_White veil…_

_Blue tiny flowers…_

_Trembling fingers…_

_Pleading green eyes.._

 

_A rope ended everything…_

_Our happiness died at the end of a rope,_

_Our life ended on the top of a hill,_

_Our love ended under the branch of a tree._

 

_I was a coward, please, forgive me._

_I was blind, God, pardon me._

 

_Our fates are tied together by a rope._

_A rope strangling us, strangling me …_

_A rope pulling me up towards the sky._

_The blue sky, dark blue sky…_

 

_I thought I was justice,_

_When I was ignorance._

_I thought I was brave,_

_When I was naive._

 

_I offered you to them._

_I threw you into hell._

 

_God, pardon me …_

 

_Don’t take me …_

_Don’t let me go …_

_Let me go ..._

 

“Athos calm!”

 

         The other Musketeers could hear the young Gascon’s voice becoming louder and louder. In the next moment, his voice broke as if the young man was ready to burst in tears.

 

“I can’t wake him, Aramis!”

 

         D’Artagnan looked at his brothers, his eyes wide with despair.

 

“I fear that he will pull the stitches. He moves restlessly.” He added anxiously.

 

         Porthos stood up and went over. He laid one hand on the young man’s shoulder sending him a reassuring smile which didn’t reach his eyes.

 

“No worries, d’Artagnan. I know what to do. Go to the others and investigate the letter further. I will stay at his side.”

 

         D’Artagnan sighed loudly, but followed Porthos’ advice, while the latter tried to reach Athos clouded’ mind. Aramis saw the big man folding his heavy body onto the chair and bending over Athos’ head, his mouth a few inches from the man’s ear, a hand carding through the matted curls.

 

“Hey, my friend. Calm.” Porthos whispered into Athos’ ear, but he didn’t seem to hear him.

 

         Athos pushed his feet on the mattress, as if trying to climb something or was he fighting? His arms moved more hectically and Porthos softly grabbed both of his wrists to stop him. Athos stopped in his movement, but moaned out loud.

 

“Shhh …! What is it? Wake up and tell me, my friend!” Porthos tried a bit louder.

 

         Athos turned his head away from him, to the wall, eyes still closed, as if he wanted to evade him. He tried to free his arms and hands, but Porthos didn’t lose his soft grip.

 

“Stop moving around! You will only hurt yourself. Wake up!”

 

         Athos turned his head back to the other side and for a short moment Porthos hoped that Athos would open his eyes. But he didn’t. Instead, with all his strength, he freed both of his hands and started to clutch with them at his own throat. It looked like he tried to free himself of an imaginary rope.

 

“Athos? What are you doing?” Porthos looked surprised. Suddenly he knew.

 

_My goodness you must think that someone is trying to hang you. How can I help you? How can I free you from those horrible dreams? I could wake you up easily by pushing my hand on your chest like the doctor is doing it all the time … but I don’t want to hurt you. Aramis has said that you need to rest, to sleep. Alright, then a story of my childhood. This always helped you to calm after one of your horrible nightmares. I just hope you don’t remember all of them when you are awake._ He thought with a small twist of his lips.

 

         Porthos bent down over Athos’ ear and told him in a low voice how he had to win a fight against Flea in the gutters of Paris. He had never told this story before and remembering it now, he had to blink some tears away, but Athos seemed to recognise his voice, his soft and calm tone. His hands landed back on the mattress next to his legs and he started to calm and return into a deeper sleep. Knowing that Porthos would take good care of Athos the medic looked at their Captain.

 

“Is this letter from O’Sullivan or is it forged by someone else who has decided that the Irishman presents for us a perfect suspect, because he started to ask around about his friend Gallagher and he knew that Athos was responsible for his death?” Aramis asked.

 

“That’s the question we have to solve?” Tréville answered with a grim voice. “The text sounds plausible, but it sounds too perfect, too clean to my ears.”

 

“Can we compare this handwriting with another letter or text O’Sullivan has written?” D’Artagnan curiously asked. “Perhaps Dr. Lemay still has a text which O’Sullivan has written …” He added.

 

“No need to ask the doctor.”

 

         Tréville stood up and walked over to a small closet where he had put the items they had found in O’Sullivan’s room: the ring, the small bottle Lemay gave him after he had finished his research on it with the belladonna tincture and a letter Tréville had taken with him. “Here! We can have a look. The letter is written in English, but the characters are the same.”

 

         Aramis reached for the second letter. D’Artagnan who stood next to him bent over his shoulder and they both started to compare the two handwritings.

 

“At first it seems that it is the same handwriting!” D’Artagnan mumbled to himself.

 

“Are there any chances that this letter was forged?” Tréville asked bending over the desk from the opposite side.

 

“Maybe the a _r_ and _l_ are written differently, but honestly I can’t say!”

 

         Aramis scratched the back of his head worsening the already shaggy look of his hair. Porthos joined them. Athos had fallen into a deeper sleep and for the moment it looked that those nightmares had left him.

 

“May I have a look?” He asked and Aramis passed him both texts.

 

“Hmm … it’s really hard to say. It can be written by the same hand, it can be forged. O’Sullivan has a real clear handwriting. Nothing extravagant which would be hard to forge by a practiced forger. Think of all the monks in their … how do you call it Aramis? …”

 

“Scriptoria.” Aramis supplied with a fond smile.

 

“That’s it, as you say … They are used to imitate perfectly the calligraphy of the texts from the bible.” Porthos added.

 

“I think what would help us more would be to see another letter from him in French. All the letters I have heard of and seen from O’Sullivan were always written in English and this letter … ” Porthos pointed with his index finger on the confession “... is written in a better French than I could write.” He admitted.

 

“Alas, Milady translated the other letters to me and the second time I was in his room they were gone.” Aramis explained.

 

“So we cannot say for certain that O’Sullivan has written this letter!” D’Artagnan angrily dropped down onto an empty chair. “I truly wish that O’Sullivan is the perpetrator, because then everything is over and Athos is safe.”

 

“Wait d’Artagnan, even if O’Sullivan was the main perpetrator he had another man helping him. I would have noticed O’Sullivan down at the river and he was not the man who knocked me out in the backstreet near the palace.” Aramis told him. “Athos is only safe if we find this man too. Maybe O’Sullivan was only helping this other man …”

 

“I have the feeling that we are missing something! That we are fooled!” D’Artagnan shouted angrily.

 

“Gentlemen we are going in circles.” Tréville groaned. “I need to inform the King. Do we have any other evidence …”

 

         He wanted to say something more, but he was interrupted by the loud noise that put his teeth on edge, the clattering sound of a cup ending with a loud crash onto the floor, the shards scattering over the tiles.

_Fleeing, fighting, falling._

_Fighting to flee._

_Fleeing to fight._

_Feeling his feet leaving the floor._

_Flying over the flows._

_Flying to reach the other side._

_Fleeing to reach the other side…_

_Wait… wait for me…_

 

_Swirls of greenish waters,_

_like mesmerising fingers._

_He bends over the terrifying flows._

_Whispers of waves are calling me._

_I will see you on the other side._ _1_

 

_Wait …_

_Slipping down the muddy bank …_

_Falling down the rocky cliff …_

_Wait … wait for me …_

_God, it hurts …_

_Please, kill the pain …_

_I will see you on the other side.[ **1**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/28141599#chapter_56_endnotes)  
_

 

_He reaches a hand …_

_To grab the …_

_Grab what?_

_Fleeing, fighting, falling…_

_Wait for me …_

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I will see you on the other side_ : borrowed to **Woodkid** (The other side, in Golden Age - 2013)


	57. We are missing something.

⚔⚔

 

         Athos woke with a start. He felt the brush of the sheets under his knees and his palms. It felt like landing on a soft mattress after a long long fall … It left him dizzy and disoriented but he had no time to think about his strange feeling as a stabbing pain hit his back, a pain even more intense than before. Confused, he blinked his eyes several times and opened them to orientate himself. Around him it was dark, in the distance he noticed a soft light, probably a candle. _It must be dark outside,_ Athos mused. He ran a hand on the soft mattress, the warm blanket and he felt hot and cold at the same time, sweat was covering his face and chest.  In the distance he could hear Porthos’ deep voice talking very quietly, too quietly for him, and explaining something, but Athos couldn’t understand him. The pain in his back throbbed and he forced himself to suppress a loud moan.

 

_I am in Tréville’s office. Aramis must have left me a cup with a pain potion, I am sure of it. He always does. I will try to fetch and drink it, no need to disturb the others. I am so tired._

 

         Sluggishly, Athos fumbled around with his right hand to find the cup. Finally he could grasp it. Slowly, very slowly he brought it to his lips and drank the whole content. He tried to ignore the odd smell and the bitter taste in his mouth. His hand trembled so he decided to wait a bit before putting the cup back onto the small table next to Tréville’s bed. He closed his eyes again and tried to breathe through the still throbbing pain. He concentrated on the words that d’Artagnan just said to the others.

 

“I have the feeling that we are missing something! That we have been fooled!”

 

_Fooled by whom? What is he talking about? The man who set the fire? The man who stabbed me? Try to sleep Athos. The pain potion will ease the pain. Your body needs to rest. Calm, calm yourself …_

 

         Athos shifted and turned himself on the mattress but with each move the pain in his back increased. Frustrated, he pressed his head deeper into the pillow and tried to lie as still as possible. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t. Suddenly he knew why: a pressing feeling in his bladder.

 

_No, it must wait, until tomorrow morning. I don’t want to stand up, I don’t want to ask for help. Let me sleep, and what if … no, I can’t wait. It’s pressing too much, I need to go. I will try to be as quiet as possible. The other door is next to me. If I am very quiet they won’t hear me and I can close the door._

 

         Athos slowly tried to lift himself but he had forgotten the cup that was still in his hand as he tried to get up, his hand started to tremble again and the cup rolled from the blanket onto the floor with a loud thud and a clatter ending next to the bed. Athos stared blankly at the shards. He could barely see in the dim light and his mind was frozen.  The four men who were still talking, turned around. Aramis made a sign.

 

“Wait, I will check on him alone.” He whispered then walked over to his bedridden friend. It was darker at this part of the room and Aramis’ eyes needed some time to adjust to the dim light. Slowly he sat on the chair next to Athos’ bed.

 

“You do know that you can ask, if you need help.” He silently said.

 

         It was too dark so Aramis couldn’t see the sweaty forehead of Athos.

 

“I didn’t want to disturb you.” Athos growled.

 

“You need something?” Aramis asked. He didn’t like the sound of Athos voice. “Wait I will light a candle and check you over …”

 

“Chamber pot.” Athos murmured, so only Aramis could hear him.

 

“I will help you.” Aramis understood immediately Athos wanted his privacy. “I will go with you to the next room, no need to tell d’Artagnan.” He softly smiled.

 

         Before Athos could answer something, Aramis took the blanket away from him. He felt something wet.

 

_Oh you must have spilled the content of the cup on your shirt. I will ask d’Artagnan to fetch you a new one._

 

“Come, do you think you can get up by yourself?” Aramis asked his friend.

 

         He could hear the rapid breathing as Athos tried to straighten up in the bed.

 

_Not good. What’s wrong with you?You were better this morning, and you are much too quiet. You are not protesting._

 

“Athos? Wait, lie down again. Let me light a candle first.” Aramis explained, pressing his friend’s shoulder back on the mattress.

 

“Porthos, can you please bring me a candle over here.” He softly asked.

 

         The three other men had stopped their discussion and listened to Aramis’ request. Porthos grabbed one of the candles from Tréville’s desk and stood up. D’Artagnan wanted to follow him, but Tréville made a sign that he should stay and wait with him.

 

“Give them some space!” He advised the young man. “Aramis would have asked for our help if he needed it.” D’Artagnan nodded understandingly, but he felt the wish to jump up and be at his mentor’s side as he heard Porthos’ soft voice.

 

“How can I help?”

 

         Athos didn’t answer. He had closed his eyes again and he tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his back. He felt dizzy, cold and he started to shiver slightly.

 

“Can you put the candle onto this small table, here?” Aramis asked Porthos.

 

         Athos had closed his eyes again, his jaws were clenched and he was obviously in pain. His face was covered in sweat like his chest. The wetness didn’t come from the content of the cup.

 

“D’Artagnan, can you fetch a new shirt for Athos!” Aramis asked in the direction of the young Gascon.

 

         D’Artagnan stood up.

 

“Will do!” He hurried away trying to catch a glimpse of his pale mentor.

 

         Gently, Aramis touched Athos’ forehead.

 

“You are running a fever, my friend!” He softly said to Athos.

 

“Hmm …” Athos only groaned. “I really need …”

 

“What?” Porthos asked.

 

“He needs to use the chamber pot.” Aramis softly added while squeezing Athos’ cool hand.

 

“Alright then. How shall we do it?” Porthos asked.

 

“Can you help me to the next room. I think that with your help I can …” Athos opened his bleary eyes, he turned his head and looked at Porthos.

 

         Porthos went behind Athos’ back, concerned, he looked at Aramis.

 

“We can bring the chamber pot here?” Aramis tried.

 

“No!” Athos moaned angrily.

 

“Alright then. Shall I help you to get up?” Porthos quietly asked in Athos’ ear.

 

         Athos shook his head.

 

“No, I can manage. I only want to be sure that I don’t end on the floor again.” Athos whispered ashamed.

 

“I will go and fetch some more water.” All three men heard Tréville say, sensing Athos being uncomfortable.

 

         He left his office. Outside he paused and breathed in the chilly night air. It was cooler and he wished that Athos would have been better by now. He had seen the sweat covering his face again, this afternoon he already had to wipe it away. He went over to the balustrade and had the urgent desire to hit it with the fist but it would have been foolish. He felt horrible.

 

_This fever is not normal, the wound, the wound must be infected. Aramis was right to be concerned. He knows Athos, he senses when he doesn’t feel well. Damn, I should have urged Lemay to have a closer look. I don’t want to lose you Athos. Losing you would be like losing the son I never had. Whoever did this to you … O’Sullivan or someone else he shouldn’t win, he will not win. God, don’t take him away from me._

 

         The Captain of the Musketeers silently began to pray. He heard footsteps next to him and turned around. D’Artagnan was standing in front of him, with a shirt in his hand. Anxiously, he looked at his Captain. The moon shone brightly enough and some torches that lit the courtyard gave some spare light. He could see the glittering eyes of his commanding officer.

 

“Is he …” He swallowed hard. “Will he be alright?” D’Artagnan wanted to know.

 

         Tréville laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder.

 

“We will make sure that he is going to be alright. Why don’t you fetch some fresh water, while I wait here.” Tréville suggested d’Artagnan.

 

         The young Musketeer pressed the fresh shirt and braies he had fetched into Tréville’s hands, turned around then he left again. Inside, Athos managed, very slowly, to lift himself in an upright position. At a snail’s pace, he cautiously put his two bare feet on the cold wooden floor. Aramis hurried to put the shards of the cup away. The pain in his lower belly urged Athos to hasten his pace.

 

“Let’s go!” Aramis ordered, seeing the distress on his friend’s face.

 

         Porthos and Aramis helped Athos to stand up. The swordsman felt that his knees were pliant and wobbly and he was grateful that he could lean on his brothers. Slowly they walked with him over to the other room. Aramis helped him with his braies, while Porthos held him upright in a firm grip, supporting his back. New sweat had formed on Athos’ forehead and his feverish eyes tried to look far away.

 

“Please, I can …” He pleaded.

 

“Of course, you can.” Aramis reassured him nodding at Porthos.

 

         They looked at the far wall of the room to give Athos his privacy. Athos relieved himself but as he finished he felt a jabbing pain in his back and screamed out loud. He nearly doubled over catching for breath and felt his heartbeat pounding in his chest.

 

“Easy, Athos.” He heard Porthos whisper in his ear.

 

“Aramis.” Porthos mouthed lifting his eyebrows with a meaningful glance in the direction of Athos’ back.

 

         A large dark stain coloured the fabric of the loose shirt where it covered the wound.

 

“It hurts so …” Athos slurred. “My back!” Athos gasped. “It burns like fire.”

 

         Athos reached out to put his hand on his wound.

 

“Here, It’s worse than before.” He mumbled. “It’s infected, isn’t it?” Athos groaned scared and resigned at the same time.

 

         It was as much a question as it was an affirmation. He felt that he was losing ground against death once more.

 

“Let’s walk back to your bed, then I can have a closer look!” Aramis soothed. “Lean on us.” He added. “And stop worrying!”

 

         Athos nodded then he let his head drop, depressed. Porthos could feel the heavy weight of his arm around his shoulder, but he didn’t say a word. Together they managed to bring Athos back to Tréville’s bed. Athos hissed several times, but otherwise stayed quiet. As Aramis helped him to lie on his stomach, he pressed his face into the pillow, trying to bury the burning tears in it.  Aramis stroked the back of his head.

 

“I will have a look, maybe it’s nothing. A healing wound can burn as well.”

 

“I wouldn’t have a fever then?” They could hear Athos muffled voice from under the pillow.

 

“It can be the pain. Sometimes fever is a way for the body to fight the pain or the shock.”

 

         While Porthos sat next to Athos on a chair and laid a hand on his shoulder, Aramis lifted Athos’ shirt and started to remove the once white now reddish bandage. Then he fetched the candle and examined the swollen wound on Athos’ back.

 

“Athos, I will touch the spot. It might sting ... tell me when it hurts you.” Aramis explained.

 

“Hmm …” Was the only answer Aramis received.

 

“Does this hurt?”

 

“No.”

 

“And this?” Aramis asked, then he gasped and said. “Wait … Porthos, bring the candle closer.”

 

Athos hissed aloud. Aramis looked closer.

 

“I think I have found the source of the bleeding and of your immense pain. You have ripped two of my perfect stitches, my dear Athos. I don’t think it’s infected, but I think I have to cut two more stitches to be sure that the area is clean. Maybe I should ask for Lemay to come.”

 

“No!” Athos sobbed.

 

“But he will know what to do.” Porthos tried to calm him.

 

_I need you. I trust you. I don’t want strangers’ hands on my body, on my pain. Please, Aramis, your hands, only your hands._

 

“Aramis, can’t ... you ... do it?” Athos pleaded. “You have done it before. You … are … the ... best.” Athos  added sluggishly.

 

Aramis traded places with Porthos and put his hand on Athos’ shoulder stroking it softly with his thumb. Athos sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the calming contact.

 

“You are exhausted, Athos. That’s why you are so scared.”

 

“If it’s infected, Aramis … I don’t want …”

 

“What is it you don’t want? We will just reopen, clean and stitch. You have endured worse ordeals in the past days.”

 

“Blood letting … I don’t want …”

 

“Don’t you trust me?”  Aramis asked, kneeling to be eye level with his friend.

 

He laid a hand on his head and resumed the soft gesture of his thumb. He looked straight into Athos’ teary eyes, his dark irises full of understanding and fondness.

 

“Do you think I would allow a doctor to take your blood under the pretext to heal you? I would take the blood of such a doctor first, and you know Lemay, he is not like that.”

 

“Please …”

 

“You will be better in no time!” Aramis interrupted ruffling Athos’ hair.

 

“I don’t ... want ... to be …”

 

“Alone? You are not alone!” Porthos pressed his hand.

 

“D’Artagnan, the Captain?” Athos whispered suddenly agitated.

 

“They are fetching a few things. They will be back soon.” Aramis said softly. “Try to sleep a little.”

 

Athos sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Soon Porthos and Aramis could hear his breathing change.

 

“I will speak with the Captain!” Aramis stood up. “Stay with him and try to calm him, speak to him, when he wakes again.”

 

“How bad is it, Aramis?” Porthos looked anxiously into Aramis’ eyes.

 

“I can’t say, we have to open the stitches to have a better look, then I can tell you. But I am not sure, maybe we should call Lemay again ...” Aramis sighed.

 

He was still tired, but the five hours sleep had helped him to think clearer.

 

“He wants you to do it, and you can do it!” Porthos looked convinced into Aramis’ eyes.

 

“I don’t know … I will ask the Captain, I’ll let him decide.”

 

“I think he is waiting outside, giving Athos some privacy.” Porthos said.

 

“You are right.” Aramis stood up and went to the door.

 

Porthos sat back on the chair and started to stroke Athos’ back. His friend was whimpering in his light sleep.

 

“You will pull through this, you have fought so hard, you will fight this too, my friend.” Porthos whispered in his ear.

 

 _Please don’t let the wound be infected. Please!_ Porthos repeated over and over again in his mind, while whispering more encouraging words in his friend’s ear.

 

Athos stopped his soft moaning. Porthos’ voice felt good and eased the pain.

 

_**To be continued...** _


	58. Will you do it?

**⚔⚔**

 

**_In front of Tréville’s office_ **

 

         Tréville looked at his medic.

 

“The wound is infected, isn’t it?” He asked in a low voice.

 

“I don’t think so but he ripped two stitches when he thrashed on the bed.” He sighed.

 

“I will send for Lemay!” Tréville already wanted to leave as Aramis held him back.

 

“Captain!” Aramis paused and gulped.

 

“What is it, Aramis?” Tréville could see the indecisiveness in Aramis’ eyes.

 

“Athos asked me to do it.” He sighed loudly and dropped onto the chair that stood on the balcony.

 

“Why?”

 

“He is afraid. He thinks of blood letting and he is scared …”

 

         Agitated, the medic ran his hands through his dark hair. Tréville stayed silent for a while, observing his medic for a short moment, he looked tired, but not as exhausted as earlier.

 

“Can you do it?” He quietly asked. “I mean you did it before?”

 

         Aramis nodded silently, fighting against the emotions welling up in him.

 

“Yes … I have done it before. I have all the items here, needle, thread, we will need alcohol and hot water and an extra salve, but I have all …”

 

“So, what’s stopping you, Aramis?” Tréville put a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

 

“The last time I stitched him I nearly … I nearly had to leave the room …” Aramis angrily sighed. “What shall I do? What will happen if I lose my nerve …?” Aramis asked with a slightly shaky voice.

 

“I doubt that. I know you!” Tréville told him firmly. “If you ask for my advice, and I think you are doing this, I would say, I order you to do it. If Athos wishes you to do it, he will be more calm.”

 

“But what if I …” Aramis didn’t finish his sentence.

 

“Then I am at your side and I will close the wound. I am not as good as you, but I can sew wounds too. Had to do it too many times.” Tréville told him with remorse in his voice. “So no more ‘what ifs’, now.” He continued in a determined voice. “I will assist you! And if you have any doubts afterwards we will send for Lemay, but the least we can do for Athos to help him pull through this is to respect his wishes.” Tréville stated firmly. “Come Aramis the sooner we start the sooner Athos will be better.” He urged his medic.

 

         Aramis breathed in deeply.

 

“Alright, Captain, but I will need …” Aramis listed all the items they would need for the surgery.

 

 ⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_Several minutes later_

 

         The four Musketeers had gathered around Athos who was still asleep. D’Artagnan was busy preparing the needed items and he started with pouring alcohol over a knife and several needles.

 

“I think it is better if we transfer him onto Porthos’ bed.” Aramis looked at his patient and thought about how they could help him the best. “Then we can hold him down from every side, if we need to.”

 

“Maybe it’s best if we bring Porthos’ bed more in the middle of the room. The light is better there.” D’Artagnan whispered.

 

“Alright, good idea!” Porthos slapped him approvingly on his shoulder.

 

“Shall we wake Athos so that he can walk over on his own?” Porthos asked shrugging.

 

“No, it’s better if we lift him!” Tréville decided.

 

“He won’t like it.” Porthos grumbled silently.

 

“I know, Porthos, but the less he has to move on his own, the less it will ail him.” Tréville softly explained.

 

“Aramis, do you have everything?” Tréville looked at his medic, who looked abstractedly at Athos.

 

“I’m not sure if I should give him laudanum?” He mused silently.

 

“It’s risky to give it to him.” Tréville said.

 

“The surgery will hurt him. I don’t want to see him in so much pain.” Aramis shook his head reluctantly.

 

“No laudanum.” Athos whispered in his pillow. “I want to know ... how severe ... the infection is …”

 

         Tréville approached Athos:

 

“Athos, are you awake?”

 

“Athos, it’s not infected.” Aramis answered almost angrily. “You ripped two stitches, that’s why it hurts so much.”

 

“Hmm …”

 

“Only two stitches Athos, do you remember when I ripped five stitches? I thought Aramis would cau …”

 

“Porthos!” Aramis barked. “Can you keep your memories for yourself, please?”

 

         Now Aramis was really angry and more nervous than ever. Porthos looked at him sheepishly.

 

“I was just trying to …”

 

“Don’t, Porthos, please, don’t try anything …”

 

“Aramis … please … I …” Athos pleaded not even opening his eyes.

 

“Come on, look at me!” Tréville ordered him in a soft tone.

 

         Athos turned his head and opened his feverish eyes.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to have something to ease the pain?” Tréville asked him.

 

“I’m sure, Captain!” Athos said firmly.

 

“I warn you it will hurt!” Aramis said from the background.

 

“I know.” Athos said quietly. “Will you do it?” He asked swallowing.

 

“What? Hurting you by cutting and sewing you?” Aramis mocked and stepped next to his friend.

 

         Then he went onto his knees to be on eye-level with him again.

 

“You’ve asked me to do it, but I need the help of Tréville, Porthos and d’Artagnan.” He said to him.

 

         Athos slowly nodded his permission then he locked eyes with his friend.

 

“I know you can do it, Aramis! Stop doubting yourself. I trust  you … I always have and … I always will.”

 

         Athos reached his hand out and searched for Aramis’ who grabbed it. Athos’ weak grip told the medic that they had to start soon. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

 

“I can give you another mild pain potion.” He tried.

 

“I just drank one. The pain is still there. Just do it!” Athos pledged him.

 

“Alright!” Tréville said louder than he wanted. “Athos we will lift you onto the other bed and then we will start.

 

         Athos closed his eyes. He felt his comrades next to him, following Tréville’s orders. He felt their hands on his arms and legs and then he was lifted. He recognised Aramis’ hands cradling his head almost reverently. It only took them a few seconds then his body touched the other mattress. Aramis shouted:

 

“Softly, softly!”

 

         Athos pressed his eyes shut, another fit of pain went through his body, he wanted to suppress the groan, but the sudden stabbing sensation left him breathless. He screamed and immediately d’Artagnan moved to his side and started to softly whisper Gascon words in his ear, wiping his face with a wet cloth.  Before Porthos could move too far away, Aramis reached for him.

 

“Porthos.” He whispered catching his elbow.

 

         Porthos didn’t turn around. Aramis could see the twistings of the muscles in his neck and jaws.

 

“Porthos. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have …”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“No, Porthos, it isn’t.” Aramis said a little louder running a hand through his hair. “You were right to try to make him relax. I shouldn't have ...”

 

         Porthos turned around at last, his eyes were closed. Aramis waited anxiously. When Porthos looked at him, his eyes were shining in the dim light but their expression was so fond and gentle that Aramis sagged with relief.

 

“It’s fine Aramis. It’s me who should apologise … It was inappropriate … I …”

 

“When you are done with apologising, gentlemen, maybe we can help Athos with his pain! Tell us what to do Aramis!” The Captain said.

 

         Then, the surgery began in a well controlled ballet of silent men. Porthos cut Athos’ shirt and he gently laid a warm hand on his chest. He told him every single step he was going to do next. Tréville had told Porthos earlier that he didn’t need the shirt any longer. _It will hurt him less, so cut it_. He had ordered. Porthos softly lifted Athos enough to allow d’Artagnan to pull the fabric away from under him. His upper body was covered with a light blanket, while his lower back was left uncovered. Aramis washed his hands with hot water and alcohol. Tréville removed Athos’ bandage and cleared the wound with the alcohol mixed with water Aramis had already prepared. D’Artagnan put his head against Athos’, his hushed voice continually pouring words that only he and his friend could hear. Aramis took the knife with steady fingers, then he bent down over Athos’ head, a hand on his shoulder, his breath ruffling Athos’ hair just above his ear. D’Artagnan looked up at him anxiously from the other side.

 

“Are you ready?” Aramis asked softly.

 

“Yes!” Athos hissed as another pain wave hit his body.

 

“It will sting ... now!” Aramis warned him. “D’Artagnan hold onto his shoulders if needed, Porthos hold the candle just here. Captain, please, can you give me a helping hand and keep his legs from moving!” Aramis ordered in his medic tone.

 

         The medic breathed in deeply, whistling as he exhaled between his lips. He could feel the anxious looks of his friends and Captain on his face, on his hands. He had to hurry because he could feel a tremor taking hold of his shoulders. He couldn’t allow it, he had to be steady. He laid his left hand flat on the clammy skin and, highly concentrated, he started to cut and pull the first stitch. Athos tried to suppress his moaning.

 

“Stop that!” Aramis chided him.

 

“What?” Athos quietly said, gritting his teeth against the pain.

 

“Stop suppressing your moans.” Aramis ordered him. “I have to know when you feel the pain. Besides, it helps you to relax and I need you as relaxed as possible.” The medic explained.

 

         Athos nodded sluggishly. As Aramis continued to work Athos tried to distract himself. He felt tired, but sleep didn’t want to come, he was too agitated. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing, his breathing becoming stronger after every single cut Aramis made on his back.

 

“Tell me about ... O’Sullivan. Has he ... confessed? How did he die?” He suddenly asked, his low rumbling voice shaking slightly.

 

         Aramis paused. D’Artagnan looked insecurely at his brothers and Porthos opened his mouth unbelievingly. Athos always managed to surprise him in the most tense situations. Tréville was the only one who didn’t look surprised?

 

“What do you want to know?” He simply asked seeing a chance to distract his Lieutenant during the next minutes which wouldn’t be easy but very uncomfortable for him.  

 

         Athos hissed as he felt the throbbing pain becoming worse.

 

“Sorry, my friend!” Aramis mumbled. “I have to cut two more stitches and this will be enough.”

 

“How … how did you capture … him?” Athos swallowed.

 

“I think d’Artagnan can tell you about it.” Tréville said and encouraged the young Gascon to start his report.

 

         Eagerly d’Artagnan started to tell his mentor his story. Athos tried to listen but another stab of pain running through his spine made him scream and catch his breath. D’Artagnan pressed his forehead against his mentor’s temple and covered his hand where it was holding tightly onto the edge of the mattress, sheets crumpled in his fist. The young man stopped talking and tried to slip his fingers into the tight fist. Athos’ fingers uncurled slightly welcoming the comforting touch. Porthos bent down over Athos, giving the candle to Tréville who had moved to see the wound.

 

“Breathe with me!” Porthos said into Athos’ ear.

 

         Athos breathed through the pain, furious at himself for not being able to endure it better.

 

“Alright Athos the last stitch is now open.” Aramis explained without looking up. “Captain, I need more light here!” He added.

 

         Tréville changed his position as Aramis started to inspect the open wound. Athos held his breath.

 

“How … how bad … is it? Aramis … tell me …!” He urged.

 

         Aramis’ fingers were covered with Athos’ blood and as much as he wished to lock eyes with Athos right now he couldn’t. He was too concentrated on his task and didn’t notice the urgency in his friend’s voice.

 

“Calm Athos! Let Aramis work. He will sew your skin again, you will be _fine_.” Tréville hoped that his words would reach his suffering officer, but Athos ignored him.

 

“Aramis!” Athos repeated.

 

“Shhh ... Calm down Athos! … I need to …”

 

“How bad is the infection?”

 

         Aramis sighed and stopped his ministration. Athos was still certain that it was infected and he had forgotten about that, about his fears. He sighed deeply and after wiping his hands he gripped Athos’ shoulder.

 

“Athos, it’s not infected. Not infected! Do you hear me?”

 

         He felt Athos’ shoulder slowly relaxing under his palm and ran his thumb on the wet skin. He rearranged the blanket around his friend’s body.

 

“Captain can you give me …” Athos heard Aramis giving orders.

 

         He felt the burn at his back as Aramis started to clean the open wound, not holding back in spite of his friend’s whimpers, pouring alcohol and water into the gash and rubbing thoroughly with a clean cloth. Athos wanted to escape it, he wished that unconsciousness would come at last and would take him into darkness and oblivion, but it seemed that he wouldn’t be granted that. His mind was perfectly clear and conscious, he could feel each touch of Aramis on his skin, each breath of d’Artagnan on his temple, the tickling of his hair on his cheek, the soft moves of Porthos’ thumbs on his neck.  He heard himself screaming, moaning, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. He felt dizzy. When Athos’ lower body and his feet started to tremble, Tréville fixed them in a tight grip in order to prevent his second-in-command hurting himself furthermore. He was trying to escape the pain.

 

“Hold him steady!” Aramis shouted, but Athos only heard it muffled.

 

         He pressed the right side of his face deeper in the pillow. His head was turned to the left side, his mouth wide open and he sucked in gulps of air, irregular and faster. He felt the hands of his comrades holding him down, pressing his weak body on the mattress to stop his frantic movements.

 

_I want to sleep … I want to drift in a deep sleep no more pain … no more suffering … no more embarrassment … Make the pain go away … why can’t it be over? Why can’t I fall unconscious?_

 

         Mumbling voices drifted to his ear. Aramis giving Tréville orders, while he poked again and again at the wound. Tréville helped him by pouring the mixture of water and alcohol into the wound all the while keeping hold onto the restless legs.

 

“Let it go, Athos!” Porthos crouched down next to him again and whispered softly. “Let it go. Let sleep carry you away. You will be fine …”

 

“Por ... th … os …” Athos gasped barely audible.

 

“I’m here. Here, press my hand.”

 

         Sluggishly Athos gripped Porthos’ warm hand.

 

“I … will … hurt you … your … arm …” Athos slurred.

 

         He smiled fondly at Athos then looked at d’Artagnan who stared at them, mouth open, eyes shining with unshed tears. Porthos sent him a wink conveying all the reassurance he could muster in this simple gesture, a smile deepening his dimples. D’Artagnan closed his mouth and breathed out, nodding as the mere sight of this soft face calmed him immediately. Then Porthos turned back to Athos:

 

“It’s my other arm. There, try to stay calm, it’s nearly over. Sleep. Let go. Please …” He whispered again.

 

“I … I … can’t …” Tears were rolling down Athos’ cheeks and Porthos had to hold himself together to not shout at Aramis to stop it.

 

“Tell me … how …  die …? I wanna …” Athos whispered.

 

“What?” Porthos looked confused with horror into his eyes.

 

“You will not die. You will live!” Porthos said pain in his voice. “You will fight this. You will be fine again. Athos …?” Porthos added squeezing his hand and making small circles with his thumb to calm his friend.

 

“I think he wants to know how O’Sullivan died.” D’Artagnan said finding his voice again. “He must have heard us talking about it earlier.” He concluded.

 

         Aramis groaned inwardly:

 

“Athos stop talking! You will be fine It’s nearly finished!” The medic looked at his comrades and shook his head. _“This is not the time to tell him.”_ He told them with his eyes.

 

“Alright, I will stitch you again then I will put your favourite honey salve with your favourite perfume on it. You know the rose water ...” He softly explained with a small joke on his lips to ease the situation.

 

         Athos pressed Porthos’ hand tighter as the needle pierced through his sensitive skin. Surprisingly, the pain wasn’t unbearable as the flesh was already so numb. He softly moaned. Aramis stopped fighting his own emotions then he bent down over Athos’ ear and whispered.

 

“Can you do me a favour?”

 

“Which … one?” Athos answered sluggishly.

 

“Let go … now let go … the wound is cleaned and it is easier for me if I stitch you while you are sleeping. It only hurts you and I don’t want to see you suffer.”

 

         Athos swallowed, he felt so tired, he heard the comforting voices drifting away, becoming more low. He wished that sleep would come, but he couldn’t.

 

“I can’t … I don’t … And … ” He whimpered.

 

_I don't know what I want. I want to make the pain stop. I want to be engulfed in darkness and  I want to forget everything … No, I want to stay conscious. I want to know what happens. I want to feel their touch, I want them to keep me from disappearing. My God, I can’t think straight. I don’t know what I want … Help me … please, help me ..._

 

         Tréville who had cleaned his hands with some hot water on a fresh fabric turned to him. He put his hand on Athos’ right shoulder and whispered:

 

“Let go! You are safe! You will survive! Let go, son!” Tréville squeezed his shoulder.

 

         Porthos felt Athos loosening the grip on his fingers, his hand fell sluggishly back onto the mattress. His head lolled, he whimpered one more time and then he let go. Unconsciousness pulled him into a deep sleep. Aramis felt Athos’ stiff body relaxing while his breathing went more even.

 

“Thank God!” He mumbled as he continued his neat stitching as fast as he could.

 

After he had secured the thread he cut it and cleaned his bloody hands in the bowl of hot water d’Artagnan passed him. Exhausted he dropped onto a chair next to Athos’ head. In contrast to the first time he had to stitch the wound, Aramis hadn’t the urgent need to flee, instead he laid his palm on Athos’ back and reassured his trembling fingers that Athos’ breathing was regular. He wanted to be near him, to comfort him. He felt his hand rising and sinking in a steady rhythm following the rhythm of Athos’ soft breathing. He felt the sudden silence around him. The others had stepped nearer to Athos’ prone body and Aramis could feel their eyes on him.

 

“You did well!” Tréville smiled mildly at his medic as he looked up with tears in his Captain’s eyes.

 

“I doubt that he will say the same!” Aramis pointed with his other hand at his sleeping friend. “Cleaning the wound must have been unbearable for him.”

 

They all stayed silent for a while, following their own thoughts. D’Artagnan shuddered, he could still hear Athos’s loud moaning and screaming.

 

         Suddenly Porthos burst out in a loud nervous laughter.

 

“What? Why are you so amused?” Aramis asked irritatedly still worried that Athos might wake from the loud sound, but Athos was too far gone.

 

“Even in the most distressing moment he remains himself.”

 

“What are you talking about?” D’Artagnan asked curiously, watching Porthos still stroking gently over Athos’ shoulders.

 

“It needed the Captain to order him to pass out!” Porthos chuckled and then suddenly his mood changed.

 

         He clapped his hand on his mouth. The other men looked at him anxiously waiting for him to pull himself together and watched sadly as the tears forced his closed eyelids.

 

“Sorry.” He managed at last and, angrily, he blinked away the tears now running down his face.

 

“Hey, Porthos, he will be fine again!” Aramis smiled at his bigger brother.

 

“I know … But it’s not fair. It’s really not fair.” Porthos mumbled turning towards d’Artagnan who had put his hand on his elbow.

 

“What now?” The young man asked.

 

         Aramis turned to his younger friend and then looked at Athos’ still not bandaged and uncovered lower back.

 

“Now!” He sighed theatrically, “It will be your duty to dress our Comte again. You are the expert.” He sent a wink into d’Artagnan’s direction.

 

“Perhaps you bandage him first, Aramis!” Tréville remarked. “I will help you.” He added softly.

 

         The next few minutes the four Musketeers started to fuss over their sick friend. Porthos wiped softly Athos’ chest and face with a wet sponge, while Tréville and d’Artagnan held him in a sideways position. Then Aramis put more salve on the closed wound and bandaged it again. He critically looked at Porthos’ bed. Some of the linens were now covered with Athos’ blood.

 

“D’Artagnan help him into a new shirt and then we will carry him back to the other bed.” He ordered.

 

         After d’Artagnan finished helping to dress Athos in a new shirt and new braies, they all lifted their patient back onto Tréville’s bed, which was covered now in the fresh linen which Tréville had organised earlier. Aramis ordered them to lay him on his stomach. Gently he covered Athos with his favourite blue blanket, then he looked at his friends.

 

“I want him to stay on his belly?”

 

“Why?” D’Artagnan asked. “Do you think his wound can become infected if he stays on his back?”

 

“I doubt that!” Aramis stated firmly. “ But the wound will heal better, if he stays on his belly and it will hurt him less. This way we can make sure that he doesn't rip the stitches a second time ”

 

“He will be grumpy!” Porthos warned him.

 

“Better grumpy than moaning or suffering” Aramis stated firmly. “I am tired of hearing him in such distress!” Aramis added angrily.

 

“I won’t tell him, that you just confessed, that you like him grumpy.” Porthos tried to ease the tense atmosphere.

 

         Tréville stifled a yawn. Aramis looked at his commanding officer who looked like he would soon fall asleep. His eyes seemed unfocused, the irises were now surrounded by more red than white and the dark shadows under them deepened his wrinkles. His pale lips were pursed in a thin bitter line.

 

“Captain, as your medic, I order you to go into my room and sleep there. Now! I will stay with Athos, and both of you …” He looked at Porthos and d’Artagnan “I don’t want to see you before you have had a good breakfast.” He ordered.

 

         Tréville grinned.

 

“I think it is the first time that you have ordered me to do anything, Aramis! Are you sure?”

 

         Tréville felt the fatigue in every single bone and he knew that Aramis was right.

 

“Go!” Aramis urged all three of them.

 

         Silently his brothers left one after another, but not before pressing Athos’ hand or shoulder. Tréville softly stroked over Athos’ thick hair, before he followed his two Musketeers.

 

“Get better, Athos. I still need you!” He whispered into his ear then he left, his back arched and his head bowed as if he bore all of Athos’ pain on his shoulders.

 

         Aramis grabbed a chair and started his watch keeping one hand on Athos’ back to give him comfort and the reassurance that he was finally on the mend. In the distance he could hear the bells of Notre-Dame, the twelve chimes announced the new day.

  


**_To be continued ..._ **


	59. I didn't want!

⚔⚔

 

**_Sunday, 8th of June (Pentecost)_ **

 

         Aramis listened to the sounds of the night. The creaking sound of a door opened and closed, a young dog barking, and far away an owl calling. He had extinguished all the candles in Tréville’s office, he took a blanket from Porthos’ bed and seated himself back on the hard chair near Athos’ head, his palm resting on his back. Athos’ soft breathing calmed him.

 

         He couldn’t sleep. The adrenaline was still running through his veins. Doing the surgery and sewing his friend had not taken much time, only a few minutes, but the whole procedure had left him emotional. Now and then Aramis stood up, stretched his arms and checked Athos’ forehead. His fever seemed to be decreasing, a good sign.

 

         Around four o’clock in the morning Athos started to become restless. He first kicked with his feet, then he tried to turn around, but Aramis bent over him and fixed his arms in a tight grip, to keep him from changing position.

 

_ Sorry my friend. _

 

         Athos seemed to have another nightmare. He let his head drop on the left side, his breathing became more heavy and Aramis knew that these were the first signs that his friend was trying to wake up. Aramis softly shook Athos’s shoulder.

 

“Go away … no …”

 

“Athos.” Aramis said softly.

 

“No … my back hurts ... Rochefort!” Athos screamed and gasped.

 

“Shhh … you are having a nightmare, wake up!” Aramis tried again.

 

“Nooooo!” Athos screamed, then his eyes widened.

 

         Disorientated he blinked in the darkness of the room. He tried to turn around, but Aramis held him down.

 

“Easy, my friend. Easy. You have to stay in this position for now.” He softly explained.

 

“Ar … mis?” Athos slurred, blinking heavily. “Why can’t I … see … you?” He frantically asked.

 

“Because it’s still dark and you are lying on your stomach.” Aramis chuckled softly.

 

         Fatigued, Athos turned his head into Aramis’ direction.

 

“Wait, I will light a candle but don’t move!”

 

         Athos nodded tiredly and Aramis stood up, lit the candle next to Athos’ bed and sat down again.

 

“What can you remember?” He asked softly.

 

“My back … horrible pain … infection … you, you had … to open the wound … again.” Athos whispered. “Will I … I live?”

 

         Aramis chuckled fondly and laid the back of his hand on Athos’ temple.

 

“Oh, Athos! It’s not infected.”

 

“It’s not?”

 

“No. You were so certain that your wound was infected. My God, you scared me, you nearly convinced me. You still have a fever, but your forehead is less warm. I’ll give you some willow bark to make it disappear completely and it’ll reduce your pain.” Aramis brushed his fingers over Athos’ head. “How is the pain level?” He asked.

 

“ I feel … better. The pain in my back is more dull, less stabbing.” Athos explained.

 

“That’s a good sign.” Aramis smiled at his friend. “You had us worried for a while. Don’t do this again!” He teased Athos.

 

         He helped Athos to turn onto his uninjured side and held the cup while his patient drank the whole content. Then, exhausted, Athos dropped back onto his stomach.

 

“Thank you, Aramis!” Athos locked eyes with Aramis.

 

“Rest, try to sleep. I am here if you need me.” Aramis smiled fondly at his friend.

 

         Exhausted Athos drifted back into a deep but dreamless sleep. He had reached for Aramis’ hand which he didn’t let go even in his sleep. Aramis felt the touch of the now warmer fingers and after days of worrying he finally had the impression that his brother was on the mend.

 

_ No, thank you Athos, for not giving up. _

 

         Aramis continued his watch over his brother. His thoughts drifted back to their still unsolved mystery. Was O’Sullivan the perpetrator and behind all the attacks against Athos? Something didn’t fit, but he couldn’t name it yet.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         The next morning, Tréville opened the door to his office very carefully. It was still early, the first sun rays had just appeared on the horizon. Aramis was sitting next to Athos, in one hand he had his pistol directed at the door, in the other he held Athos’ hand. Aramis raised his teary eyes to look at him. His dark irises had lost their light and he looked exhausted. Tréville silently reached his two men and sat on the other free chair, next to Athos’ still sleeping form.

 

“How was the night?” He asked anxiously, not sure if they had beaten the risk of infection by  opening and cleaning Athos’ wound.

 

“He woke around four, I gave him another pain potion and, after that, he very soon fell asleep again. His fever is down now.”

 

“That’s a good sign.” Tréville sighed relieved.   

 

“Nevertheless I need to check on the wound again. Perhaps it’s best if I do it, while he is still sleeping, can you help me turning him onto his good side.” Aramis asked.

 

“Of course.” Tréville hurriedly said as he rushed from his chair.

 

         He positioned himself near Athos’ head after he had helped Aramis to turn his Lieutenant onto his right side. Now he held him in a firm grip, while Aramis lifted his shirt and loosened the bandage.  Athos was moaning softly but didn’t show any signs of waking up. His body was still too exhausted. Tréville watched the face of the sick man. His eyes closed, his face still pale, his lips brittle. The red scratch on his face had finally faded. The sickness made Athos look like a young boy, not like an experienced man and soldier. Athos moaned more loudly as Aramis touched the renewed stitches and looked for any signs of pus or redness. Softly Tréville stroked through Athos’ hair.

 

“It’s alright, shhh …” Tréville soothed and Athos stopped moaning.

 

“I can’t see any signs of infection.” Aramis stated satisfied, then he took the salve spread it over the closed wound. He hurried to bandage the wound again.

 

“Alright, we can help him back on his stomach.” Aramis nodded to Tréville.

 

         Athos started to move restlessly on the mattress and tried to turn himself onto his back. Aramis softly pressed his shoulders down on the mattress.

 

“Shhh … Athos, you can’t turn on your back right now. Your wounded side still needs rest.” Aramis calmed his waking brother.

 

         Athos turned his head and opened his eyes. He blinked several times to adjust his eyes to the few sunrays flooding in through the windows of Tréville’s office.

 

“Morning.” He whispered quietly in a raspy voice.

 

“How are you?” Aramis asked him, while Tréville waited in the background.

 

         Athos swallowed his saliva. His throat felt dry and his voice was hoarse as he stated:

 

“Hungry.”

 

Aramis smiled fondly.

 

“How is the pain in your back?” He asked him.

 

“Still dull there, but it isn’t itching and pulsing any longer.” Athos told him after feeling his back. “Will I survive?” He asked, still anxious.

 

“Your wound wasn’t infected, Athos. I helped with re-opening the stitches and cleaned it again with the mixture of water and alcohol, Lemay showed us, how to do it. So, calm. You will live!” Tréville stepped next to Aramis, smiling fondly at his sick officer.

 

         Athos sighed deeply, still trying to chase the cobwebs away which were covering his mind.

 

_ Aramis has said the same to me earlier. I should trust them. I will live! _

 

“ I will ask Serge to prepare you a breakfast.” Tréville added and turned to the door.

 

“Captain?” Athos asked softly and Tréville returned to his side.

 

“Yes, Athos?”

 

“No gruel please …”

 

         Aramis had to suppress a chuckle.

 

“I’ll see if I can find some eggs for your Lordship!” Tréville grinned at his Lieutenant then he left relief written all over his face.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Athos, what do you think you are doing?” Aramis chided, seeing his friend trying to prop himself onto his hands.

 

“Sitting up.” Athos mumbled.

 

“Oh! What a good idea! You definitely love my sewing if you want more of it! Stop that!” Aramis almost shouted jumping to keep him from moving.

 

“But …” Athos grunted as his arms wobbled and he fell, his face burying in the pillow.

 

Aramis sat down again, leaned towards him and crossed his hands, his elbows on his knees.

 

“Can’t you understand that it’s bad for you?”

 

“I understand very well!” Athos replied sharply using his famous noble tone.

 

“Oh, don’t use this tone on me, Athos. I’m not impressed by you,  _ Monsieur le Comte _ !”

 

“I don’t try to impress you, I just want to …”

 

         Athos paused. He didn’t even know precisely what he wanted. But he knew what he didn’t want. He didn’t want to stay in this position. He tried to change his strategy.

 

“I can’t eat in this position.” He tried, looking straight into Aramis’ eyes with a defiant expression.   

 

“That doesn’t work either, Athos.” Aramis laughed laying a hand on Athos’ wrist.

 

         A heavy silence settled in the room, only broken by the muffled sounds coming from outside. A blackbird, probably perched on the balustrade of the balcony, sang his joyful spring song ignoring the noise and the coming and goings of the men in the courtyard. Aramis watched as Athos’ expression slowly changed, his eyes had lost their light, his expression softened and turned from fierce to sad and worried … The medic slowly slipped from his chair and sat down on the floor, his head a few inches from Athos’.

 

“Athos, what’s the matter?” He whispered.

 

         Athos turned his face to the other side.

 

“Athos, what is it? Are you in pain? Look at me, please …” Aramis tried again laying a hand on his friend’s head.

 

_ I don’t know Aramis. I really don’t know. I feel so weak. I feel so useless. How can I tell you that your behaviour makes me feel even more weak. I am not a little precious and fragile thing. I won’t break … I hope I won’t … I appreciate your help. You know I am grateful, but I can feel your fear in every single one of your looks, of your gestures … _

 

Athos turned his head towards Aramis. Their faces were so close now that they had to squint a little to look at each other. Aramis smiled and backed up slightly.

 

“Tell me, Athos, tell me.”

 

_ Aramis, stop reading my thoughts. _

 

         Aramis settled more comfortably on the floor, his arm bent on the edge of the mattress and his chin in his hand. His eyes told Athos that he was ready to listen to him, ready to listen to everything for as long as necessary. Athos basked in the warmth coming from these deep dark eyes.

 

“I … I am not the fragile thing you think I am …”

 

“Of course you are not!” Aramis shouted offended.

 

“The stabbing, the Seine … I didn’t want … I already told you … and Porthos …”

 

“I know.”

 

“That day, I didn’t want …”

 

“I know.”

 

“Aramis!” Athos cried, his tone somewhere between frustration and amusement. “I feel that you are not convinced. I never wanted to die. Maybe, there was a time when … But no, not since I have you all in my life. I told Porthos but I fear he is not convinced either. My God why does he think that? I don’t know how …”

 

         He paused, a little breathless as the pain in his back reminded him that he had to be careful. Aramis lowered his arm onto the pillow above Athos’ head.

 

“Take your time.”

 

“I know it’s worrying you too. It’s not because I am not as religious as you, that I don’t know that attempting to take his own life is a sin.”

 

“Oh, Athos!” Aramis interrupted in a pleading tone, his hand coming to rest on top of his friend’s head. “I never thought that you wanted to die, and it has nothing to do with religion. I know you, I know how brave you are, you are a fighter and even when you were at your worst, I knew you wouldn’t have given up, you wouldn’t have let us down.”

 

“I …” Athos began, then he stopped, looking at his friend, his large green eyes trying to convey all his doubts, all his love.

 

“Tell me … “ Aramis continued, softly scratching his friend’s head.

 

“Why does Porthos think that I wanted to die?”

 

“He thought that for a moment, but now he knows. I can assure you, he knows, and I know. It was the poison which guided your moves. You weren’t yourself.”

 

“No, I didn’t want … I just wanted to flee the palace … after …”

 

“Shhh … Athos ... I know … We all know.” Aramis soothed him.

 

“So why are you so worried?”

 

“Athos, is it so difficult to understand that you are loved?”

 

“I  don’t …”

 

“You are loved, my friend. We don’t want to lose you. Do you understand that?”

 

“But I am fine, now, Aramis. Tell Porthos, tell them all that I am fine, really fine.”

 

“I know.” Aramis smiled.

 

_ Well, in your definition you are fine. In a few days - after your body has rested enough - you will be fine again.  _ Aramis told himself.

 

“So stop worrying. I won’t break, I will live, I want to live and I want you to have your normal life back. What day is it today?”

 

“Sunday. Why?”

 

Athos arched an eyebrow, his lips curling slightly upward.

 

“Which Sunday?”

 

“Er ...?”

 

“Pentecost.” Athos helped him. “So …”

 

“So what?” Aramis asked.

 

“Don’t play the fool, Aramis, and go to church. You are fatigued, concerned, sad and I know you … you need time for yourself, time with God, you need to talk to him to be yourself again, and, please, Aramis, don’t be angry with him because this … happened to me …” Athos urged him.

 

         Aramis grinned broadly and leaned towards Athos who recoiled as much as his pain allowed him. Aramis cocked his head playfully and Athos sighed defeated so Aramis bent again and brushed his lips on his friend’s tangled hair.

 

“I will, my friend but not before sharing a good breakfast with you. I feel hungry.”

 

“In order that I’ll not be left alone in this room.” Athos replied with the look of a stubborn child.

 

“That too!” Aramis laughed ruffling his friend’s hair.

 

“Now, can I sit up, please?” Athos asked sheepishly, a sparkle in his eyes.

 

“Athos!” Aramis chided without hiding his smile. “You are incorrigible.”

 

         Just as he finished his sentence, a floorboard creaked on the landing. They both looked at each other and froze for a moment, anxiously holding their breath. Loud footsteps were coming nearer and nearer and they did not belong to their brothers or the Captain. Aramis reached  instictively reached for his pistol. He listened carefully. Was it someone bringing them their breakfast? He tried to reassure himself and waited, staring  at the door. 

 

_ Why is my heart beating so quickly _ _? I am overtired and Athos’ anxiety doesn’t help to ease my own nerves. If someone tries another attack I am prepared. I will protect my brother. _

 

         Next to him, Aramis could hear that Athos’ breathing changed slightly. His friend tried to get up again or turn himself around, but he failed and crashed down onto his pillow. A soft whimper escaped his mouth. 

 

_ I need to help Aramis? I have no weapon? I couldn’t even fight a recruit, how could I fight a person whose footsteps are so heavy?  _

 

         Aramis felt Athos’ hand touching his leg and he knew that his brother needed the physical contact to calm himself again as well. No words were spoken between them, they knew each other too well. Athos turned his head towards the door and together they waited for the person to enter ...

 

**_To be continued …_ **


	60. Light and Clarity

⚔⚔

 

         After Athos had eaten something and Aramis had left for church, Treville went behind his desk. He could hear the soft breathing of his officer who had fallen asleep again. The Captain of the Musketeers sighed out loud before starting to write his report for the King.

 

_Where shall I start? What is important? What is best to leave out. Shall I name O‘Sullivan as the only perpetrator? And what about his assistant? He had someone else helping him. What shall I write? …_

 

         Tréville nervously wrote some notes with the black ink quickly covering the off-white paper with a tight and tiny handwriting, the quill scratching the surface in an irritating noise, but he wasn’t very satisfied. One paper after the other landed on the floor.

 

“It’s an interesting way of decorating the floor.” A soft raspy voice startled the Captain.

 

         His tired eyes met the fatigued eyes of his Lieutenant who was standing in front of his desk. His legs shaking a little, the blue blanket tight around his body.

 

“Perhaps I can help you with your writing?” Athos offered, “I had another coffee potion earlier and I can’t sleep.” He explained softly. “What are you writing?” He asked curiously.

“Good grief Athos, you shouldn’t be up!”

 

         Tréville stared for a short moment at his stubborn officer, then he jumped out of his chair as Athos swayed dangerously. If it hadn’t been for the upper part of a chair Athos’ hands were gripping tight, he would have already tumbled onto the floor next to Tréville’s notes. Athos could feel Tréville’s hand on his back, ready to guide him back to the bed, but Athos shook his head.

 

“If I have to lie any longer in this bed I will go insane.” Athos growled.  

“But standing here in front of my desk won’t be good for you.” Treville urged. “I assume you have no intention of collapsing onto the floor.”

 

         Tréville looked critically at Athos’ whole appearance. He had to admit that Athos looked better than the days before but he was still not fit to stand in his room.

 

“Come!”

 

         He wanted to lead Athos back, but his Lieutenant held tighter onto the chair and used all his willpower to stay where he was. He gave Tréville one of his famous stares, which made clear that he was annoyed at being manhandled like a child.

 

“I prefer to stand.” Athos answered drily.

 

         In another situation Tréville would have barked at him, commanding him to follow his direct orders, but the Captain of the Musketeers couldn’t. While Athos continued to sway dangerously he simply stayed silent next to him ready to intervene if his Lieutenant lost his balance. They stood there silently next to each other about five more minutes both deep in thought, the Captain thinking about the report he had to give to the King later that day, Athos fighting to stop his legs and hands from trembling. Slowly very slowly he had to admit that standing in Tréville’s office with only a spare blanket around his shoulders and his bare feet on the cold floor hadn’t been such a good idea. He felt the tension gripping his whole body and he sighed out deeply.

 

“I have to admit that you are right, Captain.” He softly mumbled.

 

         Tréville could hear in Athos’ voice the tremors which were chasing through his officer’s body.

 

“What about sitting on this chair?” Tréville advised.

 

         Athos nodded quietly and was grateful as he felt Tréville’s hand guiding him onto the chair.

 

“Easy, easy, we don’t want to have an angry Aramis sewing your back again.” Treville warned Athos. “Wait!” He instructed Athos.

 

         Then he crossed his room to fetch some soft pillows which he gently put at the back of the chair. Athos sighed relieved that he could relax in the chair. The swordsman closed his eyes, while Tréville returned to his own chair opposite to Athos.

 

“So, what are you writing?” Athos asked again.

“The report for the King …”

“You mean about the fire at the garrison, O’Sullivan …” Athos didn’t say more. Treville’s nodding told him everything.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened to O‘Sullivan and I will help you to formulate the facts for the King?” Athos proposed, finally longing to hear the whole story about the man who did this to him.

 

         Treville thought for a moment, then he leaned back in his chair and started:

 

“Alright, I will tell you, but after that you will lie down again on the bed.”

 

         Athos nodded agreeingly.

 

“Where shall I start?“ Tréville looked critically at Athos who was shifting to and fro on the chair until he finally had found the best position for his still throbbing back.

“I think it would be wise to start with the report of the fire, I guess it’s easier to list the facts.” Athos replied, even if he truly wanted to hear the story about O’Sullivan.

“True!” Tréville stated and then started to tell Athos what they had found out about the fire.

 

         Automatically Athos reached for paper and ink and before Tréville could stop him he noted the most important facts on the sheet of paper. Finally doing something productive felt good. For the first time in days Athos didn’t feel incapable. He ignored the pain in his back and concentrated on his writing he soon forgot about the pain.  Tréville watched him concerned, looking for any signs of weakness or over exhaustion but he realised that Athos being able to help, made him more relaxed. Suddenly his soldier groaned out loud.

 

“What is it?” Tréville asked.

“Nothing, only that I am a fool. I have totally forgotten to ask ... besides Porthos, have any other men been injured?” Athos asked agitated.

 

         Tréville could see the hurt in the young man’s eyes.

 

“Athos you are not responsible for what happened to the stable or the infirmary. Do you hear me?”

 

         Athos swallowed hard.

 

“How many? Have we lost men? What’s about our horses? Roger?” He asked sadly.

“Only minor burns and all our horses could be saved. Roger is fine. Better than you! D’Artagnan has taken care of him. He is convinced that Roger is missing you.” Tréville tried to smile.

“Thank God.” Athos mumbled, closing his eyes to suppress his bad conscience. “I know that I’m not responsible for the fire, but …,” he tried to explain himself.

“We don’t want any buts today!” Treville ordered with a strict voice. Athos didn’t react, but finished writing the text about the fire. He handed the paper to Tréville, while putting the quill down.

“I think this will do for the King.” Athos added softly. “Who is in charge of rebuilding both parts of the garrison?” He wanted to know.

“I’ve asked d’Artagnan to do the planning and to coordinate the rebuilding. He accepted the challenge and to be honest I think he agreed to do it to be next to you.” Tréville explained.

 

         A shy smile scurried over Athos’ lips.

 

_Of course d’Artagnan is keeping himself close. I have to thank him for not leaving when I was in such misery. I must have scared him._

 

“I’m sure he is the perfect man for this task.” Athos told his Captain. “So now I need to know about O’Sullivan. Was he really the one who tried to kill me? Did he have any other man helping him? How did he die?” Athos asked in a firm voice and Tréville knew that he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“It’s complicated!” He sighed. “There are many leads that are pointing in his direction. Many  hints that prove that he was behind all attacks against the seamstress, the court-woman, the nobleman and you. All this will stand in my report to the King.”

“But you are convinced that something doesn’t fit. The same question I ask myself again and again, what reason had he had to kill me? Was it really because I had to stop Gallagher from killing our Queen?” Athos shifted uncomfortably on his chair.

“I am not sure. Oh, I wish I could tell you that he was behind those attacks, because this would mean that it’s all over. That you …” Tréville’s voice became raspy and he paused.

“Just tell me what you know and have found out. Perhaps talking about it, would help you to get a clearer image.” Athos suggested well aware that Tréville had shown his own fears regarding him.

 

         The Captain cleared his voice.   

 

“Alright, but I will tell you only when you lie down again. I can see your pained face. Don’t deny it.”

 

         Tréville stood up and helped Athos back to the bed. While Athos enjoyed the warmth of the bed, Tréville sat down on the chair next to him and started from the beginning until the moment they found O’Sullivan dead on the floor poisoned by digitalis. Athos laid on his stomach, his face, turned in the direction of Tréville, he followed his Captain’s report concentrating on every single word. He didn’t ask any questions in between, he just listened. His small journey and the writing at Tréville’s desk had exhausted him. Now and then he closed his eyes, but forced them to open again, because he needed to know what had happened, he needed to know why O’Sullivan and why him?

         Tréville who noticed Athos’ fight against his tiredness paused and asked, if he should continue later, but his stubborn Lieutenant only shook his head and so he continued. After he had finished Athos closed his eyes. Silence spread in the room and Tréville already thought that Athos had fallen asleep again when he suddenly spoke with a low voice trying to hide his emotional state.

 

“Let’s assume it was O’Sullivan …” Athos had to pause as the emotions overcame him thinking of the dead seamstress and poor Ana-Josefa … they had to die because somebody wanted to see him dead. Angrily he blinked the tears away.

“It’s what I have to report to the King … we have his confession …” Tréville silently added.

“There must have been a second man.” Athos interrupted him. If it really was him, but I doubt it was the Duke of Savoy … so it must have been him … who else would do such a murderous deed, killing three other people only in order to kill me … and then not at once, but with the deep desire to see me suffer, gasping in pain and agony…” Athos head swirled.

 

         Tréville stayed silent.

 

_It was too early to tell him. He is still very weak. The little colour he had this morning in his face has left and he looks white and grey …_

 

         Tréville had only a few seconds grabbing a bowl before Athos bent over and was sick.

 

“Let it out … all of it. Shh …” He softly stroked Athos back while the man heaved dry.

“Don’t tell … Ara … mis …” Athos sobbed. Tréville took a washcloth and bathed Athos’ face. After that Athos buried his face in the pillow.

“He will know nevertheless. He knows you too well.” Tréville answered. His palm still resting on Athos’ back. He could feel Athos’ heartbeat finally strong and steady.

“Yes, I agree with you there must have been a second man. The man who knifed you near the _Seine_. Aramis would have recognised O’Sullivan in the crowd … and I think the person who lit the fire here, wasn’t O’Sullivan either. It would have been too risky. After the failed attack on you in your room …”

“Why hasn’t he mentioned anything of this in his confession?“ Athos asked from under the blanket.

“I don’t know, Athos …” Tréville sighed. “But anyway I have to finish my report for the King. We will find the second man and he will be punished. Rest Athos. SLEEP!”

 

         Tréville urged Athos, sensing his officer’s exhaustion and self-blame knowing very well that this state was not good for Athos to heal. Worn out Athos listened to Tréville’s order and gave in to another restless sleep. Tréville stayed at his side, waiting until Athos’ breathing became calmer and more even, then he returned to his desk. Talking about the whole investigation had made one thing very clear for the Captain of the Musketeers: the letter with the confession alone would convince King Louis. He wouldn’t have any ear for any other possibility. So he finally sat down and wrote down the facts for the King, mentioning O’Sullivan as the main suspect who had killed himself, after being captured, but pointing out that someone else had helped O’Sullivan. He sighed deeply as he finally finished. He wasn’t convinced about the investigation and the motive, but it would do for the King, calming him that there wasn’t any further threat to expect. He had just put his seal onto the letter when a soft knock on the door startled him. Seconds later a small gap showed Porthos’ head, peeking into the room to look at his sleeping friend.

 

         Tréville waved at him to come in.

 

“How is he?” He mouthed.

“Much better, but still very tired.” Tréville whispered back.

 

         Porthos crossed the room and sat on the chair next to his friend who moaned softly but didn’t wake. Protectively, Porthos put his palm on Athos’ back, letting him know that he was not alone. Athos stopped moaning. Porthos stayed silent, then he looked over to Tréville.

 

“You have finished your report?” He softly asked.

“It has to do for the King!” Tréville answered in a harsh tone.

 

         Several minutes later they could hear running footsteps on the stairs and then Aramis burst in. His face red from agitation, he wanted to say something, but he paused. Smelling the sour odour in the air, concerned, he went straight to Athos’ side. Seeing that he was still sleeping he turned around to Tréville.

 

“The eggs…?” He asked.

“No, moreover because he is blaming himself.” Tréville explained.

“Why?” Porthos asked confused, while Aramis became angry and louder.

“You shouldn’t have told him … he is not ready yet …” He shouted at his Captain.

“He’s not a child, Aramis. He wanted to know, he has been longing to hear it for days now … Keeping it as a secret wouldn’t have done him any good. You know that …” Tréville shouted back angrily.

 

         Porthos looked from the Captain to Aramis and then back.

 

“Would you tell me what’s going on?” Porthos asked now loud again.

 

         At this moment d’Artagnan stormed in the room. He looked at his angry friends and his sleeping mentor.

 

“Gentlemen, shhh … There is a sick man in the room, who needs rest, if you want to argue, do it down in the courtyard, but not in here.” D’Artagnan intervened unconsciously imitating his mentor’s tone. “Can’t you see that? Right now I could hear you from the outside.” He added as an explanation.

 

         Silence spread in the room only interrupted by Athos’ soft whimpers. Aramis tried to sort out his thoughts and his hair, Tréville looked at the floor, Porthos stroked Athos’ back and d’Artagnan thought for the first time:

 

_God they can be such children sometimes. All of them._

 

“You are right, d’Artagnan.” Aramis finally mumbled. “I am sorry Captain. I forgot myself, it’s just …”

“What?” Porthos looked at his still reddish face.

“I know who is behind the attacks against Athos. It’s not O’Sullivan, he has been murdered too.” He paused feeling his mouth getting dry and all eyes on him.

“Who is behind it, Aramis?” Tréville locked eyes with his medic, feeling that the answer he would hear, wouldn’t please him.

 

         While Aramis tried to get more saliva back in his mouth in order not to croak like a dying swan, it was Athos, who had heard the last sentence of Aramis, who gave them all the answer.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Earlier_ **

 

         For the first time in days, Aramis felt a little something close to happiness. He had enjoyed sharing a copious breakfast with his friends, not that substantial for Athos who, in spite of his hunger, had had a little difficulty in chewing half an egg and a slice of brown bread and he had looked disgruntled as he had to drink some more coffee.

         He laughed inwardly when he was reminded of them staring at the door, awaiting a new attack and instead it had been only Robert, a tall - even taller than Porthos - and broad Musketeer, who was bringing two huge plates loaded with a delicious breakfast. Robert nearly had dropped the plates when he had seen Aramis’ weapon aiming at him. A loud laugh from Aramis had finally eased the tense atmosphere and he had felt Athos calming again. They both had been overtired. His usual calm friend being anxious was an evident sign that he was still not _fine_ \- even if he tried to pretend it. Nevertheless he was on his road to recovery. They had talked and even joked together, forgetting for a while the black clouds which were still darkening their horizon.

         As he left the Captain’s office, Aramis raised his head and faced the sun, sighing contently. Things were far from being resolved but the worst seemed behind them, and everything would go back to normal very soon. He breathed in deeply, the spring air feeling good in his lungs and he left the garrison. He had no idea of the church where his feet would lead him … There were so many of them in Paris. He felt a shiver running up his spine as he thought of _Saint-Joseph-des-Carmes_. It was a bad memory and he banished it by enjoying the sight of women carrying baskets of linen or fruits, children playing with dogs and balls made of old rags, peddlers and even beggars, in short: life! Life after so many days fighting death.

         As he left the garrison his steps instinctively led him on his left in the direction of Saint-Germain, but the old church was too crowded and too dark for his current mood, its austere architecture making him feel oppressed. It was still early so he continued his walk through the intricate maze of the narrow streets and alleys of this old area of Paris. Strange that their King hadn’t yet decided to destroy these wobbly dirty houses to build a new bright city. He raised his head and smiled at the sight of the roofs nearly touching above his head, nearly blocking every sunray trying to reach the muddy floor. His right foot slipped and he had to reach for the nearest wall to steady himself. He shook his head with a laugh picturing how a funny image a fierce Musketeer lying face down in the manure would be for the children of the streets.

         He slowed his pace, watching now carefully where he put his boots. In front of Saint-Sulpice, a multicolour crowd had already gathered. The bright morning sun made the silks, brocades, velvet and feathers of the rich costumes glitter beautifully.

 

 _Too many people,_ he thought bitterly.

 

         He wasn’t ready yet to enjoy the other people’s company however pleasing it was. He needed time for himself, time alone, time to think. Making his way through the whirling skirts and the mixture of perfumes and odours, he reached a dark and narrow little street. He recognised it at once. He looked up at the small window of the second floor. Athos’ old lodging. He felt his heart sink a little.

 

 _He is well now, everything will be alright,_ he tried to persuade himself.

 

         He hastened his pace to leave this dark street. The sun momentarily blinded him as he arrived next to _Le Luxembourg_ . The place was calm as the builders had stopped their activity for it was Sunday and an important Sunday. The bells of _Notre Dame_ reminded him of his goal. He hurried and quickly arrived in front of[ _Saint-Étienne-des-Grès_.](https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89glise_Saint-%C3%89tienne-des-Gr%C3%A8s) This small church with its square tower, its simplicity and soft austerity matched his current mood. He had never entered the place before, even if he had often seen it as his steps, some evenings, led him to another kind of place.

         The cold draught coming from the inside when he opened the heavy door, surprised him as much as the quietness of the place. About fifty people, most of them being old, had gathered in the sanctuary. Suddenly a cry echoed in the peaceful place and a woman stood up and rushed behind a pillar trying to calm a baby with a red face, large blue teary eyes and a mop of blond hair looking like a small bale of straw. The young mother seemed desperate and received the reproachful stares of elderly ladies dressed in black, their white hair covered in black lace and their back as straight as their age allowed it. The young woman threw a sheepish and helpless look at Aramis who smiled reassuringly. He approached the font and tried to read the inscription above it before reaching a hand towards the clear water.

 

**ΝΙΨΟΝ ΑΝΟΜHΜΑΤΑ ΜH ΜΟΝΑΝ ΟΨΙΝ**

 

         He smiled as he remembered the meaning of this sentence. Surprisingly, the first time he had heard about it was at the _Bouton de rose_ , a _special_ house he sometimes visited.

 

 _Lave tes péchés, pas seulement ton visage._ _[1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/28484188#chapter_60_endnotes) _

 

         The fat old priest was already there, his red shiny face sweating a little as he moved like a big rat into the choir, when Aramis slipped into the last rank of pews. The rodent-like priest was richly dressed, his chasuble, cut in a heavy scarlet brocade, was embroidered with gold and matched the colour of his round cheeks. Four choir boys, with too short albs, danced around the fat rat like frightened mice.

         Aramis smiled then looked up at the strange statue of a black Virgin dressed in a red tunic, _[Notre Dame de Bonne Délivrance](https://www.congregation-stv.org/histoire-de-la-statue-de-notre-dame-de-bonne-delivrance/) _. The statue was surrounded by fresh flowers whose heavy perfume was slightly intoxicating. Her big white eyes with a small dark iris contrasting with the ebony skin were fascinating and Aramis soon lost himself in the contemplation, basking in the reassuring stare.

 

 _“On Pentecost the church was not only celebrating being gifted by the Holy Ghost but_ _the foundation of the Church itself which Jesus Christ left them until he returns at the end of the days in all his glory.”[2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/28484188#chapter_60_endnotes)  
_

         The high-pitched voice was like a lullaby. Aramis absently followed the office, his body moving in unison with the other bodies, his eyes almost never leaving the tender face of the Virgin. The words of the priest flew through his mind like soft butterflies, sometimes pausing, sometimes disappearing. Soon, he almost felt disembodied. His limbs felt numb but his soul, his soul was so full of so many feelings, so full of light and clarity.

 

_“In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams.”²_

 

         The baby cried again and he turned his head towards him. The child stopped and stared at him with this kind of cruel look babies can sometimes have, his clear blue eyes almost defiant. The Musketeer smiled but the baby burst in tears gnawing at his small fist. Aramis should have followed the office. After all, Athos had sent him to a church to have this moment alone with God. Athos!

 

 _God_ , he prayed, _save him, protect him, spare him these awful nightmares, make him forget …_

 

         Suddenly he felt like falling, he gasped and shook himself, closed his eyes, opened them, looked at the Virgin again. The magic had disappeared but his mind had started to work like a well-oiled machine. Everything fell into place. He stumbled as he left his pew, his limbs numb from the long time kneeling on the hard wood. A few women turned around, an angry frown on their wrinkled faces. He smiled awkwardly then knelt in the nave, crossed himself and fled the church as quickly as his legs allowed it, the leather of his jacket curling around his knees and his dangling sword slowing his pace.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translation** :  
> 1 Wash your sins not only your face.  
>  **Notes** :  
> The first garrison of the Musketeers was situated 15, Rue du Bac. Athos’ lodgings are at the Rue Férou. Saint Etienne des Grès was Rue Cujas. So Aramis walks at least 2,2 km.
> 
> 2 Quote from the Bible : “... in novissimis diebus dicit Dominus effundam de Spiritu meo super omnem carnem et prophetabunt filii vestri et filiae vestrae et iuvenes vestri visiones videbunt et seniores vestri somnia somniabunt”


	61. I should have told you.

⚔⚔

         Barely audible, in a low trembling voice, Athos said:

 

“It’s Rochefort …” He wanted to say more, but his voice broke.

 

         He could feel the stares of his friends on his face and he sluggishly closed his eyes.

 

“What…?” Tréville said unbelievingly then he sunk down on his chair, mouth wide open, coping with the news.

 

         He wasn’t surprised at all, he was more ashamed that he hadn’t thought about it earlier.

 

_ How could I have missed this. It fits … he is evil enough … he always had his resentment against Athos. _ Tréville thought.

 

“Are you sure?” Porthos softly looked at his brother, gripping his shoulders and Aramis only agreed. “He is right!”

 

“What reason …” D’Artagnan started to ask, but then he paused remembering the story about Athos being whipped by Rochefort years ago.

 

         A thick silence settled in the room, not even disturbed by the usual noises outside as it was Sunday, moreover Pentecost. Athos tried to breathe deeply, gripping the edge of the mattress in both hands, but he only managed to take shallow intakes of breath and he felt his heart pounding in his chest, the noise reverberating in his ears. A flash of pain hit his back and he blew the air through his clenched teeth. He had the urgent need to flee the room, to be somewhere else. Angry that he couldn’t, he turned his head away and tried to get rid of the heavy thoughts in his head.

 

“Athos, what is it?” D’Artagnan sensed his mentor’s distress.

 

         He had seen the colour drain in his friend’s face, he had seen his jaw clench nervously and he feared the expression his eyes would carry when he opened his pale eyelids. Athos turned his head and opened his eyes.

 

“I need fresh air!” He growled.

 

         Then he started to disentangle himself from his blankets, with a suppressed sigh he raised himself, sitting on the corner of the bed, he looked for his trousers, socks and boots. Without a word, Porthos handed them to him. Concern was written all over his face.

 

_ Calm Athos, why can’t you see that we don't want to see you harmed and unwell. You would react the same, if I had been severely wounded.  _

 

         After Athos won his fight against his clothes and put on his second boot, he slowly stood up. Dangerously swaying, he headed for the door. Aramis wanted to help him, but Athos moved back from his outstretched helping hands and nearly tumbled over his own feet. D’Artagnan kept him from falling by gripping  his shoulder tightly. The medic wanted to hug him, to hold him and protect him from everything, the past, the present, the future, everything and everyone, but he knew that Athos wouldn’t stand being touched right now. Athos sensed his friend’s intention and he craved the comfort Aramis wanted to give him but his feelings were so contradictory …He wanted to curl up in a ball and welcome their arms around him, and just sleep, forget and wait, and at the same time, he wanted to escape all the love he thought he didn’t deserve. He had only brought hurt and danger. What a perfect friend and brother he was. He snorted bitterly, his eyes watering.

_ Knowing that Rochefort is behind all this … he will take a long time to get over this. He liked the seamstress, Ana-Josefa ... My God he must think he failed her … in the end he couldn’t rescue her.  _ __

         Out of instinct Aramis reached out his hand, but Athos only shook his head, pursing his lips to hold back his sorrow, his anger. Unable to look into the warm dark eyes, he turned his back to all of them. As Aramis opened his mouth to say … he didn’t even know what … Athos threw him a dark glare over his shoulder.

 

“For God’s sake, I want to be alone!” He thundered angrily, his voice louder than in days. “Give me some space, some time. I am not a child and I am not an invalid!”

 

         Athos gently but eagerly dislodged d’Artagnan’s hand, whose contact was like a burn on his skin, and made his way to the door. Aramis and Porthos both froze, unable to follow him. Porthos shared a worried glance with Aramis who had taken a few steps back, knowing that d’Artagnan would stop his friend from collapsing on the floor. The young Gascon fought with himself. As much as he wanted to respect Athos’ wish, he couldn't follow it. He had been in this situation before, and they all knew how it ended. Thus, he followed Athos nevertheless and shutting the door of Tréville’s office he hurried behind his mentor who had stopped at the top of the stairs. D’Artagnan whispered in his ear:

“ Lean on me.”

 

         Athos welcomed d’Artagnan’s support. Reluctantly, he put his arm around the young man’s shoulders as he felt his knees losing their strength. The young man helped him down the stairs, without saying a word. He waited for Athos’ next move, Athos who breathed heavily and put more of his weight on the Gascon’s shoulders, Athos who cursed himself for his weakness, for, once more, being forced to lean both physically and mentally on his young friend.

 

“Where is Roger?” 

 

         He asked him quietly as he took some more insecure steps in the courtyard, gasping for air, as he noticed the destruction that the fire had left the day before for the first time in bright daylight. He shivered at the realisation that the fire nearly took his horse from him.

 

“I will take you to him, Athos, don’t worry, I will leave you alone, but I will stay near you. You know why.” He told his stubborn friend and didn't wait for an answer.

 

         Athos was grateful for the young man’s support as he finally reached Roger outside in a paddock in front of the garrison, d’Artagnan kept his distance, while Athos buried his face in Roger’s mane. He stood there for a very long time breathing in the heavy smell of the beast, leaning on him while Roger pushed him affectionately from time to time with his velvety black muzzle. After it felt for d’Artagnan like an eternity, Athos said goodbye to Roger and looked over at his young friend. Tears were glistening in his eyes, he wiped them away but the sight of those pale irises blurred by such a deep sorrow broke the young man’s heart.

 

“I think I need to go back inside.” Athos admitted. “And I guess I need your help to achieve that.” Athos snorted angrily. “I am sorry for having been rude, d’Artagnan. It wasn’t my intention to …”

 

“It’s alright. Come inside. Aramis will be furious by now and he has probably broken something.”

 

         D’Artagnan slowly approached him, a hand raised as if Athos had been a frightened horse.

 

“He knows me and he will forgive my outburst. He always does. I don’t deserve his love, their love, your …”

“Stop blaming yourself for all the suffering of the world.“ D’Artagnan almost shouted glaring at him.

“It’s my fault …”

“No, it’s not! Stop that!” D’Artagnan replied angrily and a lot more loudly.

 

         Athos stopped and d’Artagnan saw his forehead crease just before his eyes became blurred again like those of a punished child. The young man immediately went to his side and slid his right arm around his waist, gripping tightly his friend’s left elbow.

 

“Hey!” D’Artagnan whispered. “Come on. Ready?”

 

         Athos gently squeezed his hand to show his gratitude and d’Artagnan bent his temple towards his, to tell him it was alright, everything was alright or would be very soon. D’Artagnan could feel Athos shaking more and more. The wounded man was caught in the turmoil of his own devilish thoughts and d’Artagnan knew that he had to bring him back to reality.

 

“Why are you so sure that it’s Rochefort?” D’Artagnan changed his strategy and it worked.

 

         Athos stopped under the arch of the gate leading back to the courtyard of the garrison. He thought hard, then he looked into his young friend’s eyes.

 

“I will tell you, but I have to tell it to all of you. I owe you that.”

 

         He shook his head to get rid of the cobwebs which had covered his mind and had driven him nearly insane, full of his own guilt. But by feeling Roger’s hair, his soft nose, seeing his dark brown eyes, which calmed him, he was finally back to his old self. So they slowly moved on, greeted by Porthos who had sat down on their usual bench, waiting for their friends to return.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

**_Several minutes earlier_ **

 

         Porthos stared unbelievingly at Treville and Aramis after d’Artagnan had closed the door of Tréville’s office behind him.

 

“What’s that all about? Aramis we cannot let him go like this … not …” He paused, Athos’ angry voice still echoing in his ears.

“D’Artagnan is with him.” Aramis explained softly. “I think it’s for the best, if we give him some time to gather himself.” Aramis tried to cam himself and the two other men.

 

         Tréville pushed his fist on his desk.

 

“Damn, how could we all miss the obvious. Rochefort, of course, he is behind this … and worst of all we have nothing to prove it. Or have you found anything, Aramis?” The medic shook his head with resignation.

“Perhaps Athos has something, somehow he must have found out too, maybe he saw Rochefort somewhere and can recall on it now?” Aramis thought loud.

“I can’t sit around and do nothing.” Porthos grumbled. “I will check on Athos.” With these words he left, closing the door behind him much louder than needed.

 

         Tréville put his face into his hands and groaned.

 

“Will this whole nightmare ever stop? I need to report to the King soon, but what … that we are still investigating?” He looked into the eyes of his medic.

“We have to find the second man who knocked me out, started the fire and knifed Athos. But if Rochefort is really behind all this he will get rid of this person soon too. This man is a maniac!”

“So I will report to the King that O’Sullivan was the perpetrator and that he had an  accomplice and that we are still searching for him … and Rochefort will still be in his position at court, playing the King and worst of all will try to kill Athos again?” Tréville groaned even louder.

 

         Then he stood up and paced to and fro in his office. He stopped in front of his bed. Staring at the blankets Athos had slept in only minutes before.

 

“Let’s wait for Athos’ statement first. Then, we or better he, should decide, otherwise he will still feel like a helpless child.”

“You are right. Let’s hope he comes back soon. I really need to report to the King in about an hour.”

 

         Several minutes later they could both hear footsteps approaching more slowly than usual. As d’Artagnan opened the door Aramis could see Athos being supported by Porthos’ firm grip.

 

_ Of course Athos is not well enough to walk on his own yet. What did I expect? That he would be fit already?  _ Aramis asked himself.

 

         He suppressed his need to hurry to him, while Porthos and d’Artagnan helped him over to the bed. D’Artagnan tried to make his mentor to lie down, but Athos only shook his head then he sat down on the bed, his back pressed against the wall searching with his fingers for a pillow he put behind his back to support his injured side. His head was bent down, some strands of hair were covering his face and most important his hurting eyes, protecting thus the obvious mirror of his soul.

 

“Are you better?” 

 

         They all heard the concerned voice of Tréville in the distance still standing near his desk, well aware that Athos wasn’t ready to be treated like an invalid.

 

“I will live …” Athos mumbled. Then he stroked the strands out of his face and looked up.

 

“I truly have to apologise … you have taken care of me the past days … saved my life more than once and all I am doing is treating you unfairly … It’s only …” Athos tried to explain himself as Porthos interrupted him:

 

“For every  _ I apologise _ or  _ I’m sorry _ you are going to say from now on, you have to pay me an ale or a glass of wine at the Wren. Do you hear me?” He collapsed tiredly on the chair next to Tréville’s bed .  

 

         Athos gazed at him in disbelief while the other three men tried to hide their bright smiles.

 

“Apology accepted.” Aramis moved over to Athos and sat on the bed next to him.

 

         He busied himself tucking Athos’ blanket over his shivering body. Without asking for permission he put his hand on Athos’ forehead checking for signs of fever, but the skin of his friend didn't feel hot. Athos endured it without a dangerous glare or an angry word.

 

“What makes you think it is Rochefort?” Aramis softly asked.

 

“Because he tried it before …” Athos admitted in a low voice.

 

“You mean all those years ago …?” Tréville asked from the background.

 

“That too, but no he tried it recently during our mission to save General De Foix.” Athos added tiredly.

 

“How?” Porthos looked shocked that Athos hadn’t told them before. He softly gripped Athos’ leg.

 

“Why haven't you told us?” Aramis wanted to know, feeling Athos shivering next to him.

 

“Because I thought I’d mixed it up with my previous encounter with him, but the longer I’ve been thinking about it the more obvious it is to me that he tried it twice.” Athos said.

 

“Twice?” D’Artagnan asked curiously.

 

         Athos swallowed hard.

 

“First in the forests and later as we escaped over the ravine.”

 

         Tréville looked irritated.

 

“The ravine? Obviously you have left out some important details from your report to me. Tell me about both incidents.” Tréville urged him.

 

“We were lured into a trap. The Spanish had somehow discovered that we were coming. I had sent d’Artagnan ahead, so I had to team up with Rochefort. He told me that the area we were walking through was clear, so I moved ahead, suddenly a Spanish soldier shot at me. I was lucky he only hit my pistol, but I stumbled and ended on the muddy floor. I tried to reach my pistol while the Spanish soldier came nearer and nearer. Somehow my sword was blocked I couldn’t draw … nothing worked.” Athos closed his eyes and swallowed. He felt a cup pressed in his hand.

 

“Drink!” Tréville softly said.

 

         He was now sitting on the bed they had brought in for Porthos the other day. Athos took a gulp and then looked irritated in Tréville’s smiling face.

 

“Brandy?” He looked confused.   

“I have heard it can be used as medicine.” Tréville stated firmly.

 

         Athos passed the cup to Aramis as he noticed his fingers had started to tremble, not because of exhaustion but because he was touched by the love that surrounded him. Aramis was still in this state of bliss he had experienced in the church and seeing Athos’ reaction made him shiver as his own heart was overflowed with a rush of emotions.

 

“Go on!” Tréville ordered.

“Rochefort could have easily shot the Spanish soldier, but he didn’t. He waited and waited. I shouted at him, so he looked at Aramis and Porthos who came running to my aid. I think as Rochefort noticed you Aramis, he finally shot. If it wasn’t for both of you …” Athos closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

“I should have returned when I heard the first shots!” D’Artagnan shouted angrily, leaning against the door frame.

“You had your direct orders, d’Artagnan.” Athos looked over to him.

“Why haven’t you told us?” Porthos asked agitatedly.

“Because Rochefort said that he hadn’t had a clear view but from my point of view he had one.”

 

         Athos found it hard to keep his eyes open, his head lolled on Aramis’ left shoulder.

 

“And what happened at the ravine?” Aramis softly asked curling his left arm around Athos’ shoulder to keep him in a protective embrace.

 

         He felt Athos leaning into it. At last, Athos accepted his comfort, it was an indication of how exhausted he was. With closed eyes and with a much lower voice than before Athos continued.

 

“The second time all of you were already on the other side. I fought next to Rochefort against some Spanish soldiers. Suddenly Rochefort pointed his pistol at my face. I thought that’s it … he had a devilish grin on his face … my only thought at that moment was that I thanked God that all of you were safe on the other side. … then he pulled the trigger and a Spanish soldier trying to attack me dropped dead on the floor. But if I have to I could swear that  Rochefort aimed at me … I could feel the heat of the bullet as it nearly grazed my cheek. A few inches to the right and I would have ended with the bullet in my head. I wouldn’t have survived that. All of you were already on the other side.”  

 

         Athos paused. His head sank deeper on Aramis’ shoulder.

 

“I was such a fool … I should have told you.” He mumbled.

“Athos?” Aramis softly asked, but his sick friend had fallen asleep.

“Why didn’t he tell us earlier?” Porthos sighed heavily.

“Because he had no evidence against him.” Tréville quietly answered.

 

         He had stood up and helped Aramis to lay Athos again on his stomach.

 

“You know Athos!” Aramis sighed while tucking his friend in his warm, blue blanket after removing his boots. “He doesn’t accuse someone that lightly. He needs proof first … even after all that Rochefort did to him years ago ...” He gently ruffled Athos’ hair, but his friend was already deeply asleep.

“What will we do now?” D’Artagnan asked.

 

         Tréville reached for the cup with brandy, Athos had barely touched. _Not a good sign._ And drank the still full cup in one go, he grimaced as the syrupy liquid made its way down his dry throat.

 

“I should have given Athos the order to arrange an accident on the road.” He mumbled barely audible to himself in a grim voice.

 

         Then he raised himself into a straight position.

 

“Now d’Artagnan I will go and lie to our King. I will tell him that O’Sullivan confessed and committed suicide afterwards but that we are still looking for his accomplice.” Tréville answered sadly.

“But …” D’Artagnan wanted to argue.

“It’s the only way, d’Artagnan. We have no proof against Rochefort’s devilish deeds. If we accuse him, the new true hero of France, we’ll all end up in the  _ Bastille _ .” Tréville angrily shouted.

 

         The loud voice woke Athos. Sluggishly he turned his head to the side.

 

“Tréville is right, d’Artagnan. We need to keep our knowledge to ourselves, better to know thine enemy.” He tried to smile at his young friend.

 

         D’Artagnan went over to Athos’ side and stood there stiff and trembling.

 

“As soon as I have the chance, he will pay for his crimes. I swear it.”

 

         He looked into Athos’ tear-filled eyes and then rushed out of the door, unable to stand any longer. Athos cursed himself inwardly, still shaken he looked at Porthos.

 

“Can you, please, go after him. He’s in the mood to do something stupid and I can’t stop him.” He pleaded looking at the big Musketeer with wide anxious eyes, a deep frown creasing the space between his eyebrows.

 

         Porthos wanted to stay, but he couldn’t refuse his friend’s request.

 

“He won’t do anything foolish! I promise!” He hurried behind the young Gascon.

 

_ Sometimes they are alike … Perhaps that’s why Athos trusts his young friend so much, caring for him like for a younger brother.  _ Aramis thought.

 

         Tréville returned to Athos’ side and sat down on the chair next to him. Looking into his sad pale eyes, he softly said.

 

“I am sorry Athos that I can’t do anything against Rochefort right now … My hands are tied.” He paused in order to sort his own thoughts. He put his hand on Athos’ shoulder and squeezed it softly.

“It’s better that way … accusing him with nothing to prove it … we know now that he’s playing us all … So our duty will be to protect the King and the Queen.” Athos reached out for Tréville’s hand and gripped it firmly. “Don't be sorry! We can now trick Rochefort and play along, he will lead us to the man who knifed me. That man wasn’t Rochefort.”

“I’ll make sure that he will get what he deserves!” Aramis growled dangerously. “Alright, I will play along. I am sorry I have to leave you, Athos, try to rest. You are safe here!” Tréville nodded to Aramis then he hurried out of his office with the important papers in his hands.

 

         Silence settled between Athos and Aramis and then Athos asked with closed eyes:

 

“How did you figure out that it was Rochefort?”

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

 

 

 


	62. It’s unfair.

⚔⚔

         The Captain of the Red Guards looked angrily at the young man in front of him. He was about thirty-five, dark-haired, as tall as Rochefort, and two close-set black eyes looking like jet beads were giving him the expression of a sneaky rodent. His skin was tanned and marked by the old scars of a mysterious disease. His greasy long hair was plastered to his flaccid cheeks. Rochefort’s face displayed a contemptuous expression at the sight of this despicable man and his lips curled upward in an icy smirk.

“You are a stupid fool!” He shouted at him. “I haven’t ordered you to set fire in the garrison.”

“I thought …”

“You are not paid for thinking. If the garrison had been destroyed the King would have helped his Captain in any possible way and he would have gained his old power back.”

“But you wanted Athos dead …” The man tried again.

 

         Rochefort angrily grabbed him by his neck and pressed hard. The man started to choke, his head turned first red and then purple. With both of his hands he tried to free himself. Rochefort let go of his prey, who collapsed on the floor, panting heavily for air.

 

“I only wanted …”

“Shut your mouth or a will shut it forever. Now go! Nobody must see us together.” Rochefort shouted angrily.

 

         He waited until the young man stood up from the floor and escaped from his room in the palace. It was early Sunday morning and most of the people were at Mass. Rochefort sank down on a chair and rested his head in his hands.

 

_ Why can’t this fool Athos simply die? The poison worked on all my other victims. Now he is protected too well and with O’Sullivan dead I cannot try another attack. It will be hard enough to blame O’Sullivan for the fire at the garrison while lying dead in his cell floor. I hope my forged letter will do it … all these years as a student finally might be repaid. Oh what I had to suffer, because my father thought a nobleman needs the perfect handwriting. The monk who taught me, hitting me on my hand, every time my writing was not clear enough … _

 

         Rochefort shook his head to get rid of this horrible occasion in his life.

 

_ I need a new plan. I cannot reach Athos now … I hope that they will believe the confession … Ha ha ha, Musketeers are dumb … they will think it was O’Sullivan. This fool was at the wrong place at the wrong time. With his poisonous plants and then asking around for Athos, he was the perfect scapegoat, especially when he started to ask around for Gallagher and who had killed him. His enquiries were perfect for me to try it a third time. Athos … don’t feel secure … sooner or later I will kill you … But for now I have to hold still … my opportunity will come. _

_ I am so sure … and then you’ll never know, you will never know that it was me … _

 

“Ha ha ha …”

 

         Rochefort’s evil laugh echoed through his quarters. __

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         As soon as he closed the door, d’Artagnan rushed down the stairs. He could feel his anger boiling up inside him.

 

_ Why? Why couldn’t justice be applied to these high ranking distasteful people? _

_Why Rochefort always managed to escape with his little vicious grin gracing his face?_ _I will kill you, one day, I will kill you. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I will, I swear I will!_

 

         This promise he made to himself calmed him a little. He slowed his pace as he put a foot on the dusty ground of the courtyard. He heard heavy footsteps running above his head, then stopping, it was Porthos but d’Artagnan didn’t want to talk now, he didn’t want the others to see his distress. He turned around under the stairs of the balcony, where he hid, and his paces led him to a room. 

         Unconsciously, he had reached Athos’ room and he slipped inside. He leaned on the closed door and listened to the sounds outside, his eyes closed, trying to slow down his breathing, drops of sweat cooling down along his spine. Porthos hadn’t seen him entering. He heard him passing Athos’ room, swearing and growling like an angry frustrated bear.    


         The room was dark and more dusty than ever. A sunray making its way between the curtains made the old hourglass shine. D’Artagnan went to the window to draw one of the thick curtains and daylight flooded the room in a cloud of microscopic flakes of dust. He sat down on the edge of the bed, this bed where he had nearly lost the person who was the closest to family he had found since his father’s death. D’Artagnan brought his knees under his chin, circling his legs with his arms. He observed the room, trying to bask into the familiar sight and odour. It didn’t seem right to be here without Athos knowing it but he needed this time alone. When he felt his legs becoming numb, he stood up and slowly walked around the small apartment. As he reached the far wall he noticed a bunch of letters, most of them were written in the same clumsy tight handwriting. None of them had been opened. He reached for one of them but held his move and, feeling like an intruder, he changed his mind. This room was like a sanctuary, he had no right to enter it but at the same time it made him feel safe. He looked away from the tiny dry blue flowers, sighing at the thought of what they meant. He returned to the window and leaned his forehead on the dirty pane, closing his eyes. For a moment, he had felt almost serene, in the quietness of the room, in the reassuring odour and colours, but now his mind was back near Athos and his anger was slowly building up again mixed with a sorrow born from all the ordeals of the past days, from the exhaustion, for the helplessness he experienced now. He barely heard the soft click of the door.

 

“Hey!”

 

         D’Artagnan didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer, he was too busy containing his emotions. He gripped the window frame, his nails carving small crescents in the old wood. He heard a move behind him and the quiet footsteps of his friend approaching him. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready, not yet. He wasn’t ready for a talk, he wasn’t ready for Porthos’ bone crushing hug, for his understanding looks, for his kindness. He wanted to be alone. Just alone. He hadn’t had enough time to think.

 

“No, Porthos, don’t.” D’Artagnan held a hand in warning without turning around.

 

His voice was shaky and he feared that one more word would break his composure. He felt Porthos’ breath on his neck as the other man took one more step and spoke again.

 

“What’s the matter?” He whispered, his voice rumbling softly.

“Nothing.” D’Artagnan replied sharply.

“Maybe that’s why you are carving Athos’ window frame with your fingernails.” Porthos snorted gently. “I know what you are feeling, believe me, I know …”

 

D’Artagnan let go of the window and wrapped his arms around his chest, keeping his back to Porthos, hiding from him.

 

“It’s unfair.” D’Artagnan mumbled barely audible.

 

         Porthos laid his large hand on the young man’s shoulder, squeezing gently, his breath was warm on his friend’s neck as he spoke again.

 

“Alright, I won’t tell you that life is unfair …”

“Porthos!” D’Artagnan huffed, curling a little more onto himself.

“I won’t tell you that, but please, just look at me.” Porthos put both his warm hands on d’Artagnan’s shoulders. “Justice …”

 

         D’Artagnan turned around abruptly, his teary eyes blazing as he shouted:

 

“Justice! What do you mean by justice? The one which send poor men who steal a loaf of bread to the galleys but protects murderers like Rochefort? Do you mean  _ this _ justice?”

“D’Artagnan …”

“No, Porthos, let me speak. We nearly lost him. Can you realise that? We nearly lost him. And you too could have died and …”

“Calm down. I …” Porthos tried, reaching again to seize his friend’s trembling arms.

 

D’Artagnan shook his shoulders to dislodge the comforting hands and continued.

 

“Porthos, what will happen now? Can you accept what is going to happen next? Rochefort free and parading like a peacock, waiting for us to bow before him … Can you accept that? Justice. Is it justice? I just can’t …” His voice broke suddenly, he caught his lower lip between his teeth and he bent his head, his chin dropping onto his chest.

 

Porthos took a step forward and gripped the young man’s neck until his forehead hit his broad chest. He moved his thumb up and down on the clammy skin in a soothing gesture. No bone crushing hug, no words of comfort, just a soothing and reassuring presence, a pillar on which the young man could lean. D’Artagnan let him do it, unable to fight any longer. Porthos felt the tremors born from sorrow and anger running through the young man’s body. He waited for a long time. As he heard him sniffling and saw him discreetly wipe his cheek with his shoulder, he spoke again.

 

“Did I say  _ royal justice _ ?” Porthos told him in a low voice. “I just said _ justice _ .”

 

         D’Artagnan froze and his shoulders shook suddenly.

 

“D’Artagnan?”

 

The young man raised his head his face displaying a watery relieved smile. His friend thought the same as him. Porthos let go of his nape and sent him a wink which deepened his dimples.

 

“You think …” D’Artagnan began.

“I don’t trust royal justice, but justice of friendship can work whenever you and the others are ready, whenever we find the opportunity!” He stopped, looking around in the room. “But for now, what do you think about tidying up and cleaning this dusty den?”  

“Are you serious?”

“Very serious. When Athos comes back here, he will feel like he’s living in  _ Le Louvre _ …” Porthos burst out in laughter. “Tie your apron and let’s play the maids.”

“An apron, Porthos, really?” D’Artagnan cried laughing, tears still trembling in his long eyelashes, then he stopped, calmed down a little and took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Porthos, I acted like a child.”

 

         Porthos lifted his right hand to stop him.

 

“What did I say about apologies?”

 

         And he stretched out his hand.

 

“What?” D’Artagnan asked surprised.

“Money! You owe me money. You apologised, so you must pay. Or do you prefer to invite me to the Wren tonight?” With these words, he ruffled d’Artagnan’s hair and turned around in the search of a broom.  

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

         Captain Tréville had decided to walk to the palace. He could have easily taken his horse, but he needed fresh air and a clear head. As the Captain of the Musketeers he’d had to make decisions in the past that he wasn’t proud of. It was part of his job to follow the orders of the King, to guide his own men on a battlefield, knowing that they could be hurt severely or be killed whilst serving their King. Today was a day that he knew that would haunt him for the rest of his life, like Savoy all those years back was still haunting him.

         He couldn’t plead for justice today, he had to play along, he had to lie to the King and worst of all he couldn’t stand up for one of his most loyal men. It pained him to see that Athos, after all that he had endured and suffered in these last days, wouldn’t get satisfaction and that the true perpetrator - once again - was fortunate to escape, and Athos merely accepted it. He hadn’t become angry like Aramis, Porthos or d’Artagnan definitely would have. He even supported him in his plan and accepted his fate.

         Tréville paused at a small bridge and breathed in deeply before crossing it. He ignored the people around him. Many women and men were just returning from church and were on their way back into their homes to prepare the Sunday lunch. It was a beautiful day, a blue sky, no cloud was to be seen. 

 

_ Rochefort … Rochefort will win again. What did Athos say? Better known thine enemy ... We … I knew this enemy the moment he stepped into my office. I should have ordered Athos to arrange something on the road. Being closed up in a Spanish prison he was no threat to Athos, to my commanding position and to the King. Now he is back and he is thirsty for power and the King doesn’t recognise his false play. Even if I tell him today, he wouldn’t believe me, he would tell me that I’m fantasising. I have no proof that he is behind the attacks, so what now? Today I’ll lie to my King. This is treason but I have to lie, because I have no proof. I have to lie for France, to keep my position as the Captain of the Musketeers and to keep Athos safe. At least Rochefort will not be able to start a new attack very soon. He will need a new plan first. So how will I do it, what will I say, how shall I act and play along? Rochefort will be around when I tell the King. I need to watch him carefully and I need a plan. _

 

         Tréville continued walking further and further to the palace. How he would have preferred to discuss his plan with his Lieutenant, but this time he couldn’t. He hadn’t dared to bother him. This time he had to stay calm and to concentrate and to serve the rules of the court. If he managed to talk about a second man that they were still looking for maybe Rochefort would make a mistake. The least he could do was to find the man who knifed Athos, attacked Aramis and set fire at the garrison. The nearer he came to the palace, the clearer he had formed in his mind what he would say, what he would leave out, how he would act and how he would play Rochefort. When he reached the first gate of the palace he had made his plan. He was prepared to fool the King and moreover Rochefort.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“How did you figure out that it was Rochefort?” Athos repeated.

“Mmmh… ?” Aramis mumbled.

 

         He turned towards Athos who was staring at him with determination and expectation.

 

“About Rochefort, what did …?”

“Oh!” Aramis sat down on the chair next to Athos. “Are you alright Athos?”

“Aramis!” Athos chided as he frowned trying to make his friend speak.

 

         Athos hated lying on his belly, he hated the way his neck was bent, the way his lungs were crushed by his own weight, the way his arms couldn’t find a good position, but for now, he had to endure it because he wanted to know, he wanted to unveil Aramis’ secret, the secret which had made him run and enter the room breathless.

 

“In the church.”

“ Pardon?” Athos asked surprised.

“In the church. I worked it out in the church.”

“Alright but …”

 

A strong cough interrupted Athos. He tried to prop himself onto his elbows to breathe easily.

 

“Aramis, I … “ He coughed again his face becoming red and sweat gathering on his temples.

 

He really couldn’t stay like that if he wanted to talk. Better suffer than suffocate. Aramis understood and gently helped him to roll onto his side then onto his back with a pillow keeping the wound from adhering to the mattress. Athos exhaled a long and relieved sigh as Aramis supported his head until he laid flat again.

 

“Better?” Aramis asked anxiously his face so close to Athos’ that he could feel his breathe and above all else the heat of his stare on him. “Drink?”

“No, thank you, I am alright now. So?”

 

Aramis didn’t sit back on the chair but settled on the edge of the mattress, facing his friend whose eyes had never left his.

 

“Don’t laugh, Athos.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think my body would allow me such a folly!”

 

         Aramis smiled fondly.

 

“I went to  _ Saint-Etienne _ . You know this church?”

 

         Athos nodded, a deep frown on his forehead, born from concentration and impatience.

 

“There is a Virgin, a black Virgin. Her eyes are … Her look is …”

 

         Athos’ eyes were wide open in an interrogative expression. Aramis smiled again.

 

“Well, her eyes are mesmerising. It was as if … as if she tried to … Oh, Athos, I don’t know how to explain it. You will mock me!”

“As if she tried to tell you something?” Athos continued very seriously, his eyes darker and without the glint of humour they had shown earlier.

 

         Aramis looked at him with such a fond and surprised expression that Athos laughed, but it was enough to make him cough again, curling into himself to stop the fire devouring his back. He grasped Aramis’ hand hard enough to feel the other man’s knuckles roll under his fingers. Aramis winced but didn’t say a word, waiting for the wave of pain to subside. He bent over Athos until his forehead hit his friend’s temple.

 

“Shhh … breathe through the pain, Athos … Breathe with me … Shhh … You will hurt yourself … Don’t destroy my perfect needlework again … please!”

 

The grip on his hand slowly loosened and Athos’ shoulder shook with his weak snort. At last, he raised his head, uncurling his painful body and Aramis did the same. Not letting go of Athos’ cold fingers, he stroke, with his other hand, a curl of auburn hair out of the bleary green eyes.

 

“Thanks.” Athos whispered. “Can I have … something …”

“To drink. Of course!”

 

         Aramis stood up and brought him a cup of fresh water. He smiled as Athos suspiciously smelled the liquid.

 

“Athos!” Aramis chided gently. “I promise you, no honey, no rosewater, no willow, nothing … just fresh water from the well.”

 

         Athos drank slowly, enjoying the feeling of the cool liquid in his throat. Surprisingly, it felt better than the cognac Tréville had given him earlier.

 

“So, the Virgin …” He asked, handing the cup back to Aramis.

“You know how I can be … sometimes … Lost in … er …”

“In your own head?”

“You know me so well Athos! Yes, lost in my own head … There was a baby in the church. A blond baby ….” He laughed. “With a little haystack-like mop of hair on the top of his small skull, and he had bright blue eyes …”

 

         He paused, visibly back into his own head.

 

“He reminded you of …” Athos hesitated.

“Yes … no … maybe … No!” Aramis concluded.

“Oh, that’s very explicit.” Athos smiled.

“No, I mean, yes, at the beginning, when I heard him cry, but then, I smiled at him and … he looked at me with such a rage, such a hate …! His look was already the look of an adult.” Aramis frowned as he recalled the scene.

“Mmmh! It’s terrifying. Don’t tell me that you met a baby-Rochefort and that’s what made you find the culprit!” Athos exclaimed.

“No … but he made me lose the special connection I had with the Virgin … and it was like … falling … Oh, I don’t know how to explain … It was like … ”

“Coming back down to earth?”

“Yes .. that’s it … I came back and the words the priest had pronounced were like … like written in bright letters in front of my eyes … Everything fell into place, like the golden cogwheels of a clock!”

“Always the poet, Aramis, and what were these words?”

_ “In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams.” _

“And?”

“The dreams, your dreams … Your nightmares … All the bad memories from that awful day … The only person we barely suspected … It had to be him … Everything was logical! The motive, the method, the hatred, everything!”

“Then I am an old man having dreams?”

“Athos, no, don’t make me say things I didn’t say!” Aramis laughed. “Just the word  _ dreams _ ”!

“So, justice must thank a Pentecost Mass, the Bible, a black Virgin and a mini-Rochefort!”

 

         Athos smiled but his smile turned into a grimace as the fire came back through his side. Luckily, Aramis’ eyes were fixed on the window and he didn’t notice Athos’ mark of suffering and so he escaped his fussing over him. He was grateful for Aramis’ caring but so tired of it at the same time.

 

“Justice!” Aramis huffed bitterly. “What justice?”

“Aramis …” Athos’ voice was low and gentle. “You are the best placed to know that there is always a justice, somewhere, somehow.”

“But the King won’t …”

“Aramis! Somewhere, somehow …” Athos repeated more forcefully, his eyes darker and serious, seeking his friend’s brown eyes.

 

He seized Aramis’ wrist to emphasise his words and squeezed until his brother nodded and his lips curled slightly upwards. Then he sunk deeper with his head in his pillow, closed his eyes and drifted off in a dreamless sleep. Aramis tucked the blanket tighter around his brother, checked the pillow supporting his back and listened to the soft breathing of his patient. Suddenly his smile brightened, at last reaching his eyes.

 

         For the first time in days, their horizon seemed clearer, they felt that they finally had the possibility to regain control of the boat after fighting a tempest.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

 


	63. I will need a plan

**_At the palace_ **

 

“Captain Tréville, how good to see you!” Queen Anne smiled warmly at him, while Louis was still busy with something else. “I have heard about the fire. I hope your men are well!” Queen Anne continued. 

 

         Tréville slightly bowed his head and gave her a rough summary about the fire and his men. Inconspicuously, he looked around the throne room. All the signs of the great feast the previous day had now gone. The pages had cleared the entire hall and it looked as it usually did, no flowers, no velvet carpets, no signs that twenty-four hours before another person had died in this room or at least collapsed and died several minutes later in the room next door. Rochefort was nowhere to be seen and even if Tréville was relieved, because he still wasn’t sure if his acting would convince the dangerous Comte, he needed him around to bring his plan into action. The Captain of the Musketeers was brought back to the present as King Louis suddenly shouted.

 

“Captain! Finally! I missed you at morning mass. The sermon of our new bishop was so boring, but it’s understable, you were needed at the garrison. Henri did a good job. Such a dreadful deed. Do you know who started the fire?” Louis continued.

 

         Tréville was about to answer as the door opened and Rochefort entered. His face lightly reddened. He bowed slightly in the direction of the King.

 

“You called for me?” He asked curiously.

 

“Ah, Rochefort, yes, I heard that your Red Guards weren’t able to guard this prisoner O’Sullivan. I wanted to know what happened? Why haven’t you informed me that he is dead?” Louis asked angrily.

 

         Before Rochefort could say a word Tréville was forced to answer.

 

“I am sorry, your Majesty, but I asked Rochefort to wait before informing you. It happened yesterday and your banquet was still in progress. It would have disturbed you and the other guests. Besides - we think it was a suicide - and I wanted to investigate further before telling you.” Tréville bowed his head again slightly.

 

         Rochefort smirked angrily at him.  

 

“A very wise decision. Indeed, Captain Tréville, it would have ruined my feast. All our guests would have been upset to find out about a death in the palace. The second death in one day! I thank you for your thoughtfulness.” He nodded to Tréville then he turned to the Comte. “Nevertheless it doesn’t explain how a prisoner, who was guarded by your men, was able to commit suicide, Rochefort!” The King angrily shouted taking some further steps in the direction of the Comte. 

 

         Rochefort’s blue eyes stared at the floor where he had lain a day ago. He tried to ignore this shameful aspect.

 

“My men weren’t aware that there was a second room. In this room O’Sullivan still had a sac with poisonous plants. I am very sorry, your Majesty and I have already taken the necessary steps and punished my men for their carelessness.” He informed the King with a low voice.

 

“So what happened?” Queen Anne asked from the background.

 

         Tréville thought that this was his chance to give a complete report and he started to inform the King and Queen.   

 

“I have brought my written report with me and the letter in which O’Sullivan confessed his deeds. I needed to study its content more closely, but my men and I think that O’Sullivan was responsible …” 

 

         By only reporting the main important facts Tréville informed the King and Queen. From time to time he looked at Rochefort. He wanted to see a reaction in his face, but the Comte was showing no signs of any emotion. He was very self-controlled. Perhaps it was because the King had blamed him earlier that he hadn’t informed him yesterday. But Tréville thought that it had more to do with the fact that he had hoped that the forged letter would be accepted by him and the King. For a moment Tréville thought that his expression resembled that of Athos, who was able to always look the same, not showing any sign of emotion either when he was amused or angry. An ability which was very important if you had to be and work in Court. Suddenly Tréville became aware that in the past few days he had seen Athos in a very emotional state instead. The illness had made Athos lose the ability to hide and protect himself behind this non-expressive stare. The poison had made him more talkative, more emotional and being wounded and followed by a stranger had made him scared. Thus he had shown his vulnerability. It was about time that things returned back to normal.

         While Louis now and then asked some questions and Queen Anne was still very shocked about the fact that O’Sullivan had killed her cousin, Tréville set his plan into motion. He encouraged Rochefort to say what he knew and let him talk. He watched him, but tried not to show it too obviously. He wasn’t sure if Rochefort noticed his strategy. This man was a snake, lurking in the dark, waiting for his chance to bite and spread its deadly poison.

         At the end of his report King Louis asked Captain Tréville:

 

“Can we assume that now the whole threat against the Musketeers and especially Athos is over?” 

 

         While Rochefort already hurried to answer:  

 

“Of course your Majesty, O’Sullivan is dead …” 

 

         Tréville interrupted him with an angry glare, which he employed deliberately.

 

“I am afraid O’Sullivan had an accomplice.” The Captain paused and he could see Rochefort’s mouth opening and gasping for air.

 

“What do you mean by an accomplice?” Queen Anne asked curiously.

 

“O’Sullivan must have had a helping hand. This man knifed Athos and also set the fire to our infirmary and the stable.” Tréville explained leaving out that this man had knocked down Aramis as well. It wasn’t important.

 

“What makes you believe that he had an accomplice?” King Louis asked.

 

“Our enquiries have led us to this conclusion. One of my men saw a stranger in the courtyard and Aramis hadn’t seen O’Sullivan at the _Seine_.” He explained.

 

         Rochefort suddenly groaned out loud and they all looked over to him.

 

“What is it?” Queen Anne asked irritatedly. “Aren’t you well?” 

 

“No, your Majesty. I’m only thinking that I saw this accomplice of O’Sullivan’s several times. It was strange, he sometimes lurked in a dark corner, waiting for the Irishman and then they whispered. I always found it odd.”

 

“Has this man been a guest of my trade summit as well?” King Louis asked now agitated. 

 

“I’m not sure.” Rochefort had to admit. 

 

“So, what was this stranger doing in my palace?” Louis asked angrily. “Rochefort you should have investigated the matter of this lurking man more closely.” He shouted at the Captain of the Red Guards. “Bring this man to me. I want to question him myself. If he helped O’Sullivan, if he has attacked one of my Musketeers, he is a murderer and has to be punished! My wife’s cousin was killed, a nobleman, both highly valued and respected at my court. And don’t … do you hear me Rochefort … don’t let this man harm himself before I have a chance to speak to him first. I want to have him in chains and alive.” 

 

         Louis looked angrily at Rochefort, then he turned to Captain Tréville:

 

“I’m sure that your men will be able to help with the search of this accomplice. Rochefort give them a detailed description of this man! You can … yes … you should ask one of our court artists to paint several portraits of this man, of his face. Search the palace, search the whole of  Paris! Both of you and bring him to me!” Louis ordered now in a harsh voice.

 

         Then Louis made a sign with his hand to a page:

 

“Fetch me that talented artist, what is her name …?”

 

“Philomène de May.” Anne said in a gentle voice.

 

“Thank you my dear, yes, this Madame de May who painted my beloved wife so wonderfully.” He ordered. “And take her to my study room.”

 

         Then he turned to both soldiers.

 

“Tréville, Rochefort, wait for her. And you Comte should give her the exact description, then she shall sketch several drawings.” Louis ordered strictly.

 

         After the King had finished, he made a sign with his white aristocratic hand that both Captains were dismissed. As Captain Tréville bowed and left the room, he had to smile inwardly. Rochefort has stepped into his trap and, as expected, King Louis had wanted answers and this accomplice alive.

 

_ If we find this man and if he is brought to court it will be our chance to make him talk, to confess that Rochefort is behind all of this. It is our chance to finally get justice. I can only hope that we will find him. The idea with the portraits is good, now I shall ask Porthos and Aramis to follow Rochefort.  _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  
  


         Milady watched from a distance as Tréville and Rochefort left the throne room  together discussing something. She hid herself behind a pillar as both men hurried away together and a young page was left in the throne room on his own. Milady took her chance and stepped in the way of the young man. She had the feeling that something important was going on and she wanted to know what it was.

 

“Eh, Léandre!” Milady called him. 

 

         Astonished the young boy looked up. 

 

“Madame?” The young page, made several further steps towards her and bowed slightly. 

 

“What can I do for you?” He asked in a low voice.

 

“Do you want to earn two sous?” Milady asked him.

 

“I … I don’t know …”

 

“Quickly, or I will ask someone else.” 

 

         The young boy looked indecisively. 

 

“Well … I can ask someone else … forget about it …” Milady took some slow steps to go away.

 

         She played with her beautiful dress walking slowly away. The page, hardly fifteen years old, thought hard. Two sous were a lot of money for him. Money his mother with her fourteen other children could use badly.

 

“Wait! What can I do for you?” He asked shyly, with his head still bowed.

 

“Come with me. Other people shouldn’t see us talking.” Milady ordered in a harsh voice and the boy followed her down into an empty room.

 

“What were Captain Tréville and Captain Rochefort talking about?“

 

“I … I’m not … sure, if I can tell you, if the King …”

 

“I won’t tell the King. It will stay between us.”

 

“Madame, I can’t lose my job.” The boy wanted to go away.

 

“Five sous and I will tell no one that you revealed anything that was just spoken between the two Captains and the King!” She purred like a cat.

 

         The boy hesitated. His long thin blond hair was falling on his brow.

 

“Alright, for ten sous, I will tell you.” He smiled sheepishly.

 

 _Good grief of all the pages I have to deal with, I run into_ _the greediest. Ten sous. Hmm ... I will give him five at the beginning and then we will see how important the news is._

 

“I’ve only five sous with me.” She smiled apologetically. “I can give you the rest later.”

 

“Alright!” The boy gulped. “They talked about this Irish merchant. I have forgotten his name. It’s very complicated to spell this name …”

 

“O’Sullivan?” Milady asked.

 

“Oh yes, that was his name!”

 

“Was?” Milady asked curiously.

 

“Yes, he is dead!”

 

“How?” Milady now wondered.

 

“He committed suicide after he was arrested by the Musketeers. In a letter he has confessed that he has poisoned the Musketeer Athos and the other people who died recently.”

 

“Was Captain Tréville sure that he did it? I mean that O’Sullivan poisoned all these people ? ” Milady asked curiously.

 

“Oh yes, he told the King himself that he has no doubt that O’Sullivan was behind all these horrible attacks. Can I have my money, please?”

 

“Anything else?” Milady wanted to know, while she was giving the page five sous.

 

“Yes, they believe he had an accomplice who helped him. Now they are looking for him. Comte Rochefort saw him several times with O’Sullivan. He will give a description to the court artist.” He further explained.

 

“Thank you, that’s all. Quick! I hear someone coming.” Milady shooed the boy away before he could ask for the rest of his money and how he could get it.

 

_ Interesting … so O’Sullivan was really behind the attack against Athos? Why does this sound so odd, so wrong? But Tréville would not lie to the King, would he? I need to see a sketch of the second perpetrator who is supposed to have helped O’Sullivan. Maybe I know him … then I can find out more about the whole story ... _

 

         Deep in thought, Milady left the small room. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


         Outside of the throne room Rochefort turned around to Tréville.

 

“Thank you for explaining to the King why I didn’t inform him yesterday!” 

 

“I asked you to wait. You shouldn’t be blamed for my instructions!” Tréville replied. 

 

“I will go and inform my men and I will send you some copies of the portraits of this man as soon as I have them.” With these words Rochefort was about to hurry away, but Tréville grabbed his arm.

 

“Where do you think you are going?” Tréville asked angrily.

 

“I need to inform my men. They have to find him as soon as possible.” 

 

         Rochefort angrily withdrew his arm from the firm grip of the Captain of the Musketeers. This man had dared to touch him and he needed all his composure to not slap him in his face. With an evil stare he looked at Tréville.

 

“Not so fast. You heard the order of the King, we’ll wait for the artist and then you will give your description.” 

 

         Tréville stared at him with a cold look. His voice was calm but strict and Rochefort knew that he wouldn’t be able to leave.

 

_ Does he suspect me?  _ Rochefort asked himself.  _ No, he doesn’t. He is simply angry and wants to find the man who has hurt his officer. Oh, Tréville when it comes to Athos you have a weak spot. You are too blind, alright I’ll play along. I’ll  have to wait, but after this I have to get rid of my spy but how will I do it? The fool has ruined everything by starting the fire … _

 

         Tréville observed Rochefort closely. The man was choking his own anger down and trying to stay as calm as possible and for a short moment he could see the cruelty flaring up in his cold blue eyes. It was a mere second but Tréville only needed this second to see the evil  façade of the man in front of him. This was proof enough for him that Rochefort had tried to kill Athos.

 

_ He did it, he is behind it, this man is mad. I don’t know why he hates Athos so much. Is it because I preferred Athos instead of him when I asked for a commission for him. This man would  never have fit into my regiment, I saw it, the first day I met him when he appeared in the courtyard, so full of his own capabilities. He would never have been able to serve in a group, in a team. He thought his title as a Comte would open every door to every position he wanted but I declined his request. However his hatred should be directed against me and not against Athos. He had nothing to do with that, he wasn’t the reason, I could have easily commissioned more than one man. _

 

         Tréville looked again at Rochefort.

 

“You understand why we have to wait? Do you?” He asked in a now calmer tone.

 

“I have to apologise again. I was not thinking clearly, I was already hunting, in my thoughts this evil man who did this to Athos, to the people who died. He nearly destroyed your whole garrison. I’m sorry, I haven’t asked yet, how are your men?” 

 

         Rochefort said with the same calm voice, but Tréville noticed very well that the Comte needed all of his willpower to not explode.

 

“They will live!” Tréville answered shortly. “Let’s go to the other room. I hope your memory is good enough to allow us to find the second man very soon. This has to stop.” Tréville told Rochefort.

 

         So they moved into the other room, where a beautiful woman of about forty with long dark hair with a few threads of white and blue eyes was already waiting for them. She had some pencils with her and papers. After they greeted her, Rochefort started to describe the accomplice. For a moment he was tempted to give a general description, but then he thought it would be too suspicious. Other pages and courtiers had seen his spy at the palace too. If he lied now it could come back to haunt him and the King would doubt his abilities as a commanding officer, it would weaken his newly acquired power. Therefore he gave an accurate description.

         When the woman finished the first portrait she showed it to both Captains, the accomplice that Rochefort had described looked somehow familiar to Tréville, he had seen this man before, but he couldn’t remember a name or the incident, where they met each other: dark hair, tall, brown eyes and a distinctive nose. 

         Rochefort nodded.

 

“Yes, that’s him.” 

 

         The woman made another copy and after she had finished several more portraits Tréville reached for three of the papers, thanked her and left. Rochefort stayed behind. Tréville quickly left the palace and once outside in the garden he breathed in the fresh spring air. He closed his eyes and noticed that his hands had begun to tremble. He put them together and massaged them to get rid of the tension. He felt a person standing behind his back and turned around.

 

“Captain?” A woman’s voice asked him softly.

 

“Constance, what can I do for you?”

 

“The Queen has told me about the fire, that O’Sullivan poisoned Athos and killed Ana-Josefa.” She blinked some tears away. “How are your men? Is d’Artagnan, Athos …” 

 

         She looked away a little ashamed of having first asked about d’Artagnan.

 

“They are fine and Athos will be fine again.” He smiled at her.

 

“Thank God, I was worried! The Queen told me that O’Sullivan had an accomplice. Perhaps I can help you, that’s why I was looking for you.” She now explained more confidently.

 

“Did you seen O’Sullivan talking with another man?” Tréville asked curiously.

 

“I’m not sure. As I already told d’Artagnan, I saw him searching rooms in the palace. To be honest I’m glad that he is …” She paused.

 

“Have you seen this man?” Tréville tried again and gave her one of the drawings.

 

         Constance looked at the painting and said:

 

“Oh yes.” She nodded excited. “I know that man. His name is Maurice Coulon but that’s all I do know. He sometimes comes here, wandering in the servants’ quarters, lurking in the kitchens like a starving stray cat, except that he seems well nourished with his chubby cheeks. He has hung around the palace and in the gardens a lot, lately. I have seen him several times waiting for the Comte de Rochefort.”

 

“Are you sure that it was Coulon?”

 

         Constance looked again. 

 

“Hmm, it’s only a picture. It could be somebody else as well … let me think about it … ah yes ... the portrait has a great resemblance to him. His nose, his small black eyes. Yes, I think it’s him.” 

 

“Thank you, you’ve helped me a lot!” Tréville told her and hurried back to the garrison. 

 

         He cursed himself for not having taken his horse with him and thought it might look odd to some people that he started to run through the small streets of Paris in his heavy parade uniform, but he wanted to catch Coulon, before Rochefort could reach him. He looked up at the sky and could see dark clouds on the horizon. The sun was still shining, but he knew that there would soon be rain. He wanted to escape the first rain drops so he ran even faster.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Rochefort was furious. Angrily, he paced from one corner of his office to the other. Thick black shelves with books and important letters and notes were covering the high room. The curtains were closed and the dark room was illuminated with several thick yellow candles standing in wooden candleholders, an atmosphere the evil Comte preferred after years in the darkness of a damp and cold Spanish prison cell. His eyes could no longer stand bright light. 

 

_ Damn! I have to find Coulon before the Musketeers find him. Sooner or later they will find him. I had to give the accurate description to the artist otherwise there would have been rumors and I need this post, I cannot lose the trust of the King. Oh, Tréville, be careful … you might think that with Coulon you will receive all your answers … but I won’t allow that. _

_ Who else could now be dangerous for me? What about the two Red Guards who saw Coulon and me entering O’Sullivan’s quarters. Will they be silent …? Oh, they will, I’ll watch them closely, but I have threatened to hurt their families … just as I did with that seamstress … What pure words can lead those underprivileged people to do. They will stay quiet. But how will I reach Coulon …? I will need a plan ... _

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	64. Lean on me.

⚔⚔

**_Meanwhile at the garrison_ **

 

         Aramis could hear Porthos’ heavy footsteps on the landing of the balcony. Silently, he stood up and left Tréville’s office closing the door softly behind him in order not to wake his sleeping friend.

 

“Did you find d’Artagnan?” He greeted Porthos with a smile on his face.

 

“Oh yes I have and we have done some cleaning.” Porthos grinned back. 

 

“Cleaning?” 

 

“You will soon find out.” Porthos looked at Tréville’s closed office door. “Do you think he is up for a small trip and a small lunch break at our table?” Porthos asked curiously.

 

“Where do you want to take him?” Aramis asked, leaning over the balustrade and checking the sky. The sun was still shining but heavy rain clouds were chasing over the sky.

 

“If we stay inside the garrison I think it’s alright. Some more fresh air will do him good and he needs to eat.” Aramis paused. “Perhaps first the lunch and then if he is still up to it and if it doesn’t start to rain, I may allow your “trip”!” He emphasized the last word with a raised eyebrow curious as to what his two brothers had accomplished in the last few hours. 

 

         But Porthos ignored Aramis questioning stare, instead he asked:

 

“Is he awake?”  

 

“No, we’ll have to wake him, he’s still very sleepy. Anyway some fresh air will do him good. So, where is d’Artagnan?”

 

“Oh, he is with Serge organising our lunch.” Porthos still grinned.

 

“Then I assume he hasn’t left on his own to kill Rochefort.”

 

“Not today, but he will one day if he has the chance and if not him then me.” Porthos growled like a bear.

 

“Alright then, let’s wake our groundhog together.” Aramis tried to change the topic then he returned to the door and opened it silently. Porthos followed him.   

 

         Both men could hear Athos’ soft moaning. The swordsman heard the noise of the creaking door and woke up. He still felt a dull pain in his lower back and wearily opened his eyes blinking several times while he tried to rearrange with his right hand the soft pillow in his back. He stopped as he heard footsteps on the floor and turned his head in the direction of his friends who both smiled at him.

 

“Are you up for a little trip?” Porthos asked.

 

“Not sure!” Athos answered. “Perhaps it’s better if I stay in bed.”

 

“Some fresh air will do you good.” Aramis urged. 

 

“Where are we going?” Athos asked still not convinced that it was such a good idea to stand up, he still felt very groggy.

 

“Only to our courtyard, d’Artagnan has asked Serge for some food for our lunch.” Porthos explained, with a bright smile on his face. “Come on, you managed to check on Roger earlier, so you will manage to sit with us in the courtyard.”

 

“My stitches?” Athos asked concerned. 

 

“They will be fine!” Aramis assured him. 

 

“But I’m not really hungry …” Athos tried again.

 

         Aramis was confused. Why was Athos so reluctant to leave the Captain’s office, he had felt the need to leave earlier.

 

“What is it, my friend?” He sat down next to Athos on the chair he had left minutes earlier, laying a hand on his shoulder.

 

“What if the man that attacked me tries again?” Athos mumbled barely audible.

 

“That’s why you don’t want to come out with us?” Porthos asked softly.

 

         Athos swallowed.  

 

_ What’s wrong with me? Why am I so scared, that’s not me … I should get rid of these thoughts, they only stop me from getting better. _

 

“It’s only for a short moment … we’ll  sit in the courtyard, eat and drink something and we’ll wait for the Captain’s return.” Porthos explained. “We’ll be there too, I doubt that he will try it again.” Porthos added.

 

“Besides, the fresh air will do you good.” Aramis pressed Athos’ shoulder. “Come!”

 

“Where is d’Artagnan?” Athos asked suddenly. 

 

“He is waiting outside with our meal.” Porthos added. “He will be disappointed if you don’t come down.”

 

         Athos pulled himself together and tried to sit up in his bed, he looked for his clothes that Porthos was handing him while Aramis helped him with sitting up. Without further words they helped their brother to pull on his trousers and boots. Still a little unsteady Athos stood several minutes later in Tréville’s office. 

 

”Ready to go?” Porthos stepped next to him. 

 

         Athos nodded slightly.

 

“Lean on me, I’ll help you.” Porthos said and Athos accepted his offer without any further discussion, while Aramis brought a blanket and pillow which they would need to protect his back.

 

         Leaving Tréville’s office, Athos paused on the landing to let his eyes adjust to the bright sun which was still shining in the courtyard. He could hear Serge’s loud voice explaining, with his heavy accent, something to d’Artagnan. He thought that he heard hammering and shouting from the men while busy rebuilding the stable or infirmary but besides d’Artagnan and Serge the courtyard seemed deserted. Curiously Athos stepped closer to the balustrade and realised the whole destruction which the fire had left behind. A shiver ran down his spine, which Porthos could feel while holding him in a firm grip around his shoulder.

 

_ My God … we were really lucky. It is a real wonder that we all survived … even our horses. Whoever started the fire did a good job. I hope the men won’t be angry or mad at me that they nearly lost their … our home. _

 

“Don’t even think that.” Porthos mumbled in Athos’ ear feeling the tension in the body of the still weak man.

 

“What?” Athos blinked at him confused.

 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Porthos said in a gruff tone.

 

         Athos stayed silent for a while, then he retreated from the balustrade and turned to Aramis.

 

“Where is everybody?” He asked. 

 

         Porthos who steadied his upper back with his left palm waited patiently. 

 

“Shouldn’t they be working on rebuilding the stable?” Athos asked blinking his eyes. 

 

“Er … Sunday … Pentecost …” Aramis cleared his throat. 

 

_ He was more awake this morning. Perhaps we should have let him rest a little bit longer.  _ Aramis mused. 

 

         Then he lifted the blanket and wrapped it around Athos’ shoulder. 

 

“It’s turned a little colder, the wind’s getting stronger, I think there will be rain soon. Come.” Aramis softly squeezed his friend’s hand. “Let’s go and enjoy some of the last sunrays of the day.”  __

 

         As they arrived in the courtyard they helped Athos to sit down on their bench. And while Aramis was busy fussing with the pillow and blanket to help keep Athos in a good position to rest, d’Artagnan and Serge had been busy and a lot of food was already waiting for them. Next to a basket of fresh bread there were a few sheets of paper. Athos who wasn’t really hungry tried to forget about the burned surroundings and stared at the papers.

 

“What’s that?” He asked curiously.

 

         D’Artagnan reached for them. Then he sat next to his mentor on the bench and showed them to him.

 

“Look, I made some sketches for rebuilding the stable and the infirmary.”

 

         Interestedly, Athos looked at d’Artagnan’s sketches and nodded acknowledgingly.

 

“Did you do them yourself ?” He asked the young man.

 

“Oh yes, on our farm we sometimes had to help our neighbours to build a new barn or to rebuild some stables.”   

 

“They are impressive!” Athos stated firmly. “How did you plan that?” Athos pointed on the map d’Artagnan had drawn for the infirmary and the Gascon explained his plans to him. 

 

         Soon both men had started to discuss some further strategies, material that should be used and where d’Artagnan could buy more wood. Aramis and Porthos shared a satisfied look seeing Athos finally on the mend. The idea of bringing Athos out into the courtyard had been a good one. Aramis tried to give Athos a cup of wine, but to his own astonishment Athos refused it and drank some water instead. After they had stopped discussing the plans of rebuilding the destroyed parts of the garrison d’Artagnan managed to talk Athos into eating some soup and an apple.

 

_ I don’t know how d’Artagnan is doing it, but he’s helping Athos. He calms him. Nevertheless Athos still looks very tired and I’m not sure if letting him see the destroyed parts of the garrison was such a clever idea. I doubt that Porthos had that in mind as he talked about a little trip and having cleaned something …   _

 

         Aramis looked over to Porthos who was busy eating Serge’s delicious soup. 

 

 _I’ll have to wait and ask him later._ He glanced at the sky as a dark cloud moved over the sun. _We’d better hurry with our lunch, I don’t like the weather. I’m glad that I brought Athos’ blanket with us._

 

         He looked over to his sick friend and had to smile at what he saw.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

**_A little earlier in Rochefort’s office_ **

 

_ Alright, I will leave a message for Coulon at our usual place, saying that we need to meet in two hours. A boy will inform him about the note.  _

_ This fool with this fire, he nearly destroyed everything. He really thinks that he will regain  his job at the Red Guards. He is such a fool, he failed all those years ago to trap Athos, the other men will avoid him. He is a stinking swine, nothing more. A rat, that has to be poisoned and killed ...  _

_ Now, I can’t afford to make any further mistakes? _

_ If Athos’ friends find him … I have to hurry … where is my paper. Ahh, here it is! It has to work! But wait what will I do with Coulon. If I kill him Tréville and his men will know that there was another person behind the whole plot to kill Athos. _

 

_ I will kill him with another plant O’Sullivan told me about … Mmmh … What was the name …  _ Aconitum _ … Aconite ... that’s it … The queen of poisons … He told me that … It can treat and it can kill …  kill within hours. That’s exactly what I need. Let me see. How will he suffer? Ha ... ha … ah … what did O’Sullivan tell me, this stupid fanatic. He enjoyed himself by seeing patients suffering. What did the mad man tell me: “You will have cramps, your chest will feel like it’s being crushed by a horse, you will suffocate and your heart will be so fast that you will see yourself dying!” _

 

_ I have to let the Musketeers find Coulon … they must think that he committed suicide after he heard about the news of O’Sullivan’s arrest. He feared the wrath of the Musketeers and killed himself or much better he killed himself by accident. _

_ Yes, this can work … now I need to go.     _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         As Tréville finally reached the small entrance to the garrison he slowed down. His men shouldn’t see him running like a haunted dog. So he paused for a minute to take several breaths, he wiped away the sweat with the back of his hand from his forehead and then walked slowly into the courtyard.

 

         The first thing he recognised was that the  _ Inséparables _ were sitting at their usual table. In the middle of it there was plenty of food and as he approached them with fast steps he suddenly paused and smiled. 

 

         Athos was sitting between Aramis on his left side and d’Artagnan on his right, he had fallen asleep again and his head was resting on d’Artagnan’s shoulder, who was sitting as upright and straight as possible in order not to wake his mentor. The still sick man was tucked in his blue blanket. Tréville observed his face, his closed eyes and even if he still looked pale he had the impression that his Lieutenant looked more relaxed than he had for many days. Aramis raised his finger to his lips to gesture him that he should be quiet. Tréville nodded shortly then he whispered.

 

“Porthos, Aramis, come, we have to talk in my office.” Both men stood up. 

 

         D’Artagnan looked questioningly at his Captain.

 

“Stay with him, let him rest as long as the sun shines, but wake him and take him back to my office as soon as the first rain drops start falling.” Tréville whispered.

 

         D’Artagnan didn’t dare to nod so he blinked with his eyes that he had understood. He could feel Athos’ warm breath on his neck, as the other men hurried up the stairs to Tréville’s office, d’Artagnan softly put his arm around Athos’ shoulder to steady him better. Athos didn’t wake, but shifted his head a little on d’Artagnan’s shoulder.

 

_ Time to heal my friend, time to return back to normal. We’ve cleaned your room and I’ll fetch your repaired scarf soon.  _

 

         A thick drop landed on d’Artagnan’s nose and he realised that the first signs of the rain had started marking their dark spots on the wooden table and the courtyard.

 

“Athos?” D’Artagnan softly spoke in the sleeping man’s ear. 

 

“Hmm …”

 

“Wake up, it’s beginning to rain.”

 

         Athos groggily lifted his head and opened his eyes. 

 

“Where …”

 

“Courtyard … the others are with the Captain.” D’Artagnan explained softly.

 

“Come, we need to go back inside. I doubt that you want to catch a cold.” 

 

         D’Artagnan helped his brother up. Slowly they both made their way up to the landing of the balcony. D’Artagnan spotted Mathieu near the kitchen and asked him to clear the table for them. After seeing that d’Artagnan was busy with Athos he hurried to bring the food back to the kitchen. As they finally reached the top of the landing a loud clap of thunder rolled in the distance, followed by a bright flash. The rain grew heavier and turned into white hailstones, the size of peas, which popped on the dusty courtyard ground. Soon the brown area was covered in white. Dust of the sandy floor was hanging in the air. 

 

“I’m glad that we are standing under the rooftop.” Athos mumbled. 

 

         Fascinated, he watched the spectacle that nature produced in front of their eyes.

 

“You want to go inside?” D’Artagnan asked, but Athos shook his head.

 

“I like this smell of water mixed with the warm earth of the ground. It feels like spring, it reminds me of better days, of my childhood and it makes me feel so alive.” Athos said to an astonished Gascon who felt slightly proud that Athos told him so many things about himself and also, it made him smile and even blush, that he had used him as a pillow earlier.

 

“Then we will wait a little longer.” D’Artagnan checked Athos’ blanket around his shoulders and tucked some loose ends tighter around his shivering body.

 

“Better?”

 

“Hmm …”

 

“Athos?”

 

“What?”

 

“You are alive!”

 

“Ha, I’m useless!”

 

“No, you are not. You helped me with my sketches earlier, have you already forgotten? Your body only needs time to heal. So, be patient!” D’Artagnan advised his mentor.

 

“Hmm …”

 

_**To be continued...** _


	65. Show your cards!

⚔⚔

 

“Have you ever seen this man before?” Tréville asked Aramis and Porthos showing them the sketch of the man Constance had identified as a man called Maurice Coulon. 

 

         Tréville had given his men a rough summary of what had happened at the palace and that he was now sure that Rochefort was the man who had killed or ordered the killing of  Athos and the other people. Aramis stared at the drawing and closed his eyes. He tried to remember if he had seen him near the  _ Seine _ or in a small backstreet in Paris, or elsewhere. He was sure he’d seen this man before, but he didn’t know where or when.

 

“That’s Maurice the rat!” Porthos exclaimed. “He was one of those watching as we cared for Athos down at the  _ Seine _ .”

 

“Are you sure?” Aramis asked.

 

“Of course I am sure. He is a mean bastard!” Porthos growled.

 

“What makes you say that?” Tréville looked up surprised as he acknowledged Porthos’ outburst.

 

“He loves to start a fight about nothing. Last month he hit Jean-Pierre with a bottle on his head. Lemay had to stitch him up afterwards.”

 

“What was his story!” Aramis exclaimed. “Why did he do it?”

 

“He told me that he hates Musketeers that was reason enough for him. He boasted everywhere that he could win any fistfight against any  _ Musketeer scum _ !”

 

“I doubt that this ended luckily for him.” Aramis looked astutely at Porthos.

 

“Oh, I taught him some manners or at least I told him very politely to go somewhere else instead of the Wren … Wait … this is the man who knifed Athos?” Porthos suddenly shouted angrily.  

 

“Easy Porthos!” Tréville tried to calm his officer. “This picture is the description of the man Rochefort gave to the painter, I doubt that he has given us a false description because he needs to play along to distract us from thinking that he himself is the real perpetrator.” Tréville explained further.

 

         Suddenly both Tréville and Porthos heard a loud noise. Aramis had dropped into a chair and had buried his face in his hands.

 

“You alright?” Porthos looked irritatedly at Aramis.

 

“I am such an idiot …” Aramis mumbled his hands still hiding his face, groaning out loud.

 

“Why?” Tréville wanted to know.

 

         Aramis looked angrily up. 

 

“I didn’t recognise him, but his face is familiar to me, to all of us …” He paused, breathing deeply, his eyes now fixed on the ceiling, his face had turned pale. “He has changed a lot, but it’s him.”

 

“Who?” Porthos asked crouching in front of his friend. “Aramis, who is he?” 

 

“Imagine him with a clean shaven face, very short hair, slimmer and …”

 

“And what?” Tréville asked frustrated.

 

“And a black and red uniform.” Aramis breathed out then he hung his head, eyes closed.

 

“Christ!” Porthos whispered, gripping Aramis’ knee and squeezing it painfully.

 

         Aramis looked down at him, their eyes locked together in a silent dialogue, sharing their emotions. Aramis put his hand over Porthos’ and nodded ruefully. Porthos was loathe to stand up, to break contact with his friend, because of the memories overwhelming them at that moment, but the anger swelling inside his heart was stronger so he stood up, running a hand through his tight curls and pacing in the room like a wounded beast.

 

“Can someone please enlighten me?” Tréville asked trying to stay calm.

 

“He was one of the Red Guards who were with Rochefort as they whipped Athos several years ago.” Aramis murmured at last. 

 

         Silence spread in the huge room.

 

“We have to find him!” Aramis angrily jumped up and paced from one corner to the other in Tréville’s office, running his hand through his already disheveled hair. 

 

         Then he suddenly stopped abruptly, looking around him with wide eyes.

 

“What’s that noise?” He asked.

 

“Hail!” Porthos commented dryly.

 

“Athos …” Aramis wanted to run to the door, but Tréville stopped him.

 

“Calm down, Aramis. D’Artagnan is with him. He won’t let him stay out in this weather for long.” Tréville tried to put Aramis’ mind at ease.

 

“Besides they are standing on the landing of the balcony.” Porthos added.

 

“How do you know?” Aramis turned to his brother.

 

“I’ve heard them walking up the stairs and I can hear them talking.” Porthos explained. 

 

“Perhaps Athos simply wants to breathe in some fresh air a bit longer?”

 

         They all fell silent and could hear Athos’ soft voice.

 

“Gentlemen we need a plan! The King has ordered me to arrest Coulon alive. I think Rochefort is already hunting him. Take some other Musketeers, form groups and find him. And Aramis ...!”

 

         The medic turned to his Captain.

 

“Yes?”

 

“We need him alive. That counts for both of you! He will be the only link we have to Rochefort. If we get him to confess perhaps that’s the way to achieve justice for Athos.” Tréville added, seeing the anger in his medic’s face.

 

         Aramis nodded reluctantly. 

 

“You are right, Captain. Shall we take d’Artagnan with us?”

 

“No, he is still busy with planning the rebuilding of the garrison.”

 

“He will be disappointed.” Porthos tried it.

 

“Tell him that someone has to protect our Comte!” Tréville smiled understandingly.

 

“What will you do Captain?”

 

“I'll go seek Milady to talk to her!” Tréville said slowly.

 

“Why?” Porthos looked irritatedly.

 

“Because I’ve the feeling that she can help me with something.” He grabbed his raincoat and ordered: 

 

“Come!”  

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Standing in front of the dirty small window of his miserable housing, Maurice Coulon, crumpled, unfolded and read the short message again. 

 

_ I will meet you at your place this afternoon.  _

_ You are right! Time to settle accounts. R. _

 

         The light coming from outside was barely enough to decipher the tiny letters. Reading wasn’t one of Maurice’s favourite occupations. He knew his letters, of course, but he knew better how to calculate, especially when it came to money. He looked up at the sky and frowned as the colour slowly changed. The summer-like bright blue had slowly been tarnished by a veil of mist soon tinged in yellowish shades. Big slate grey clouds were blossoming at the horizon and a bright lightening made Maurice jump, followed a few seconds later by a low rumbling of thunder. This weather gave the atmosphere something almost unnatural and mirrored his anxiety. What did Rochefort want, did he bring him a new mission? It would mean more money! Maurice crumpled the message again, forming a tight little ball, which he threw angrily into the hearth where a few embers were still weakly glowing. The small piece of paper made a tiny bright flame and was soon burnt down to black ashes. He snorted as he turned around, and approached his straw mattress. He lifted it and reached for the bag he had hidden beneath it. A cloud of dust billowed around him and a few bugs ran in all directions. Maurice opened the bag and checked its contents again, enough clothes - all the clothes he possessed -, two daggers, a pistol, a pair of gloves, a few pieces of ammunition, and a leather purse filled with the only coins he still had. He closed the bag and hid it again under the mattress. Whatever happened during the next few hours, he would have to leave this place.

         Until now, working for Rochefort hadn’t been enough, especially since he had failed to fulfill his missions for him. Rochefort had promised him a place in the Red Guards, a place he had lost  _ because of this bastard’s crazy whim years ago,  _ he thought. When Rochefort had been sent to Spain as a spy, an idea of Richelieu to keep him away from France and from the memory of too many people, Maurice Coulon, the commoner, had been forgotten, no, not forgotten, menaced. “ _ A word about what happened and you die along with all the people who are dear to you!” _

         These were the exact words of Richelieu, words reported by Rochefort himself. The two other guards witnessing the whipping of this  _ bloody _ Musketeer had been more lucky, in a way, since they had died quickly, one from his injuries two days after the ‘incident’ and the other one from … Maurice didn’t really know from what … The man had been ill for a week before succumbing in terrible pain. He was single and had no relatives. 

         At this time, Maurice had a wife who was pregnant. He had yielded and agreed to leave the Red Guards without arguing. From that very moment, life had become a turmoil of misfortune and misery. Without any regular income, Maurice had been forced to steal, to smuggle and even to do worse in order to allow his wife and his newborn daughter to survive. Nevertheless, he soon had to learn that he hadn’t seen the worst yet. During a particularly hard winter, his wife and his only child had died from the flu or something like that. He had tried to find comfort in the company of a bottle but even the worst of alcohols was too expensive. So he became a beggar, sleeping in a dirty corner of a narrow street, begging under the porches of churches.

         It was where Rochefort, returning from Spain and now well placed in the King’s heart, had found him. He was dressed like a prince, his eyes even more crazy than years before. Undoubtedly, Spain had branded its marks on his mind as well as his features. He was thinner, his cheeks hollow and what an expression in his clear blue eyes. As Rochefort was leaving the church, they locked eyes, the beggar recognising immediately his former superior and Rochefort staring for a few second, visibly trying to remember where he had seen these dark beady eyes, now lost in a grimy beardy face, surrounded by long greasy hair. As soon as he realised, his eyes widened and he saw the beggar’s lips curl upwards slightly in a wicked sneer. Rochefort just nodded briefly and, in order not to lose face in front of the few noblemen who were with him, he took a few coins from his embroidered coat and handed them to the beggar. The latter suddenly gripped his wrist, clawing at the skin with his long dirty fingernails. Rochefort hissed and Maurice just said in a hoarse voice turning Rochefort’s palm upward: 

 

“No perfumed soap can remove this blood from your hands for the stains are printed elsewhere.”

 

“I beg your pardon!” Rochefort exclaimed escaping the man’s claws.

 

“Your memories are safe, my lord … for now!” Maurice added.

 

         Rochefort froze and waited for his companions to walk ahead. Thoughts swirled in his mind and he made his decision in a heartbeat.

 

“Meet me here, tonight, after vespers, don’t try to trick me. We will find an … arrangement.” He said in a hushed voice.   

 

So their association had begun, based on hatred, threats, blackmail and money. Rochefort had promised him a place in the Red Guards as soon as possible in exchange for his silence and Maurice had became his henchman in exchange for enough money to survive, but the association didn’t work. The place as a Red Guard was still very far away, as Rochefort always found a pretext to delay it, the money he gave him was not enough to live on and Maurice had no idea how to use the blackmail he had threatened him with. His position didn’t allow him to talk to the King or a minister, even the servants were looking at him as they would look at a rat or a stray dog, and Rochefort had more and more power at the Court. So for now, Rochefort used him, but Maurice had not obtained anything more than a few coins thrown at him like grain at a fowl. Now it was time to stop that charade.

         Sighing as the Comte wasn’t yet here, he took a paper from his pocket and unfolded it. 

 

**_30th May 1631_ **

**_I, Géraud Besant, solicitor in Paris, hereby certify that the bearer of this letter, Maurice Coulon, came to me as the witness of an incident which occurred five years ago in Touraine, regarding a certain Comte de Rochefort and a Musketeer known as Athos. Every detail of said incident are recorded in my office._ **

 

         Maurice smiled, an evil smile:

 

_ This forged letter which cost me almost all my savings is my last chance, either he steps into this trap, or he kills me. Anyway, one way or the other, I’ll win, better to die than to live this miserable life, alone, surrounded by dark memories, ghosts and death.   _

 

         He jumped as he heard a sound he couldn’t identify. It was as if a myriad of bullets had been shot at the same time onto his door, roof and window, or as if something had exploded in the street. He sagged and exhaled a deep breath as he realised that it was just a deluge of hailstones the size of his forefinger nail accompanied by a violent storm, the wind hissing like hundreds of snakes. The noise was deafening and it was in the middle of this racket that Rochefort entered his lodging, drenched, pale, his almost white hair plastered on his face, a frightening figure looking like an allegory of death itself coming to fetch a lost soul. Maurice quickly hid the letter in his old doublet.

         Rochefort removed the hood covering his hair and shook his head like a dog to dislodge the hailstones caught in his collar. He breathed out, letting the air leave his mouth through his teeth in a whistle.

 

“Now, Coulon, shall we talk business?” He whispered menacingly.

 

“Alright, show your cards.”

 

“First of all, I owe you something for your last mission.”

 

_ This man is scary. He has a way of speaking that makes me shiver. _ Maurice thought. 

 

“This is a small compensation for the serious task I assigned you.”

 

         Maurice gritted his teeth at hearing the high pitched hissing voice.

 

_ This man is a snake, a bloody venomous snake.  _

 

Rochefort reached for something in one of the pockets hidden in the lining of his dark brown coat. Maurice froze and discreetly reached for the dagger in his belt behind his back, but Rochefort had just a leather purse in his gloved hand. He raised an eyebrow to encourage Maurice to take it.

 

“Here, you can check the sum.” Rochefort whispered as he slowly slid behind the man.

 

Maurice seized the pouch and tried to open it. Sadly, the strings were well knotted and the moisture from the heavy rain and hail made the operation of untying them even more difficult. Rochefort slid silently on the dusty floor to come around Maurice and smiling with a false kindness he raised a hand where the blade of a fine sharp dagger was shining gloomily. 

 

“Wh…!” Maurice began.

 

“Here, let me help you.” Rochefort said with too much honey in his voice.

 

         Then he raised his blade to cut the strings.

 

“Ah, bloody idiot!” Maurice spat as the blade cut his palm, leaving a long red gash.

 

“Oh, I am so, so, sorry.  Here, take this handkerchief and without waiting for an answer the Comte pressed it on the bloody wound.”

 

“Th .. thank you …” Maurice murmured, uncertain.

 

“Now, you won your place in our regiment. You will find the document in this purse with the payment for your work and your next assignment. I wish you a good day.”

 

         Rochefort left in a whirlpool of water, wind and hail leaving a stunned Maurice in the middle of the room, blood dripping from his right hand.

 

_ What has just happened? Why did he change his mind? _

 

Maurice wrapped the handkerchief a little more tightly around his palm and read the letters. The first one was indeed a letter about the Red Guards.

 

**_The Captain of the Red Guards is happy to welcome you into the ranks of his prestigious regiment._ **

 

_ No signature, no seal. Strange, it doesn’t look like a certificate or a commission. Anyway, it should be enough. _

 

         There was only one line on the other letter and it was like a riddle.

 

**_The past is never where you think you left it._ **

 

         Maurice Coulon sat down on his mattress, the forged letter of the solicitor forgotten in his pocket, and he closed his eyes as the cut in his palm made him wince.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	66. A Filthy Rat

⚔⚔

 

         Treville took both sketches with him. While Porthos and Aramis hurried down into the courtyard to gather the men, the Captain approached d’Artagnan and Athos. Athos was deep in thought, absent mindedly he stared at the white floor not recognising what was happening around him. D’Artagnan had given up talking to him. He simply stood next to him, arm around his shoulders to steady his brother.

 

         As Aramis and Porthos stormed down the steps d’Artagnan looked curiously at Tréville.

 

“What’s going on, Captain?” He softly asked.

 

“We think we have identified the man who attacked Athos. Can you show this sketch to Thomas?”

 

         He gave one of the papers to d’Artagnan. The young man hesitated looking concerned at Athos, who showed no signs that he had understood what the Captain had just said.

 

“Go and come back as soon as possible I’ll wait for you here or in my office.” Tréville ordered.

 

         The young man softly squeezed Athos’ shoulder then, after making sure he wouldn’t collapse, he loosened his firm grip and followed Tréville’s order. Silently, Tréville stepped next to his Lieutenant.

 

“Did you hear what I just said?” He asked, but he didn’t receive an answer. “Athos?” Tréville said, a hand now resting on his left shoulder, he could feel his officer trembling. “Come. It’s cold out here!” He ordered, but still no reaction. “Athos, come!” He urged louder.

 

         Tréville was undecided what to do. Athos seemed to be far away or brooding about something. In the courtyard he could hear Porthos’ loud voice giving orders. Aramis looked up to them and he didn't like what he saw. Athos had closed his eyes, his arms were hanging over the balustrade supporting his weak body and his head hung down hidden by a few brown strands of hair.

 

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He told Porthos and climbed back the stairs.

 

         With fast steps he reached Tréville and Athos.

 

“Let’s take him back inside!” He told Tréville, while supporting Athos’ right shoulder. “Athos, come, you need to rest.” Aramis softly said in his brother’s ear.

 

         He felt Athos leaning more heavily on him, then he slowly stepped back from the balustrade.

 

“I am sorry.” He mumbled, barely audible.

 

“You are lucky that Porthos didn’t hear you.” Aramis teased him. “Lean on us!” He told his brother.

 

         Then he changed the position of his hand on Athos’ back to support him better and pushed Athos softly towards the door. Tréville helped on the other side.

 

“What is it?” Tréville couldn’t conceal the concern in his voice.

 

“He’s simply exhausted.” Aramis answered for his friend even if he was sure that it had to do with Athos blaming himself.  

 

         Athos stayed silent. As soon as they had helped him back onto Tréville’s bed, he curled himself up in the sheets and blanket and fell asleep. Tréville raised an eyebrow.

 

“I think I’ll have to change my plans.” Tréville said to Aramis.

 

         A knock at the door disturbed any further explanation. D’Artagnan rushed in, seeing Athos asleep, he silently went over to Tréville and nodded.

 

“Thomas said that this is the man he saw in our courtyard yesterday morning.” D’Artagnan whispered giving Tréville the sketch back.

“Alright, change of plans. D’Artagnan go with Aramis he will fill you in. Find that bastard and bring him to the garrison.” He ordered.

“Captain, if you still plan to …” Aramis paused well aware that he wouldn’t say Milady’s name in front of his sleeping friend.

“No, Aramis, I will stay here. Come on. Move!” He ordered louder and both Musketeers hurried away.

 

         Tréville sank, exhausted, on the chair next to Athos’ sleeping form.

 

_ I will wait until you are ready, Athos. I need to tell you what we have found out. Rest, my son. This bastard will pay for his crimes. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Maurice Coulon felt an odd stinging and prickling in his mouth. Mindlessly he looked for some water and drank several cups. He still wasn’t sure what he should do with the note Rochefort had left him. 

 

_ Does it mean that I have my post back in the Red Guards? I need to meet him a second time and ask him. If I work again as a Red Guard I want more money too. I have proven to Rochefort that I am trustworthy … ahhhh … what is it? _

 

         Coulon was gripped by a horrible pain. He felt like he was burning. His forehead was tacky and he dropped exhausted on his dirty mattress that was lying in his room. He had wanted to leave this place with all his belongings, but he couldn’t. Unbearable cramps ran through his stomach and limbs, he curled into a foetal position. He felt sweat on his forehead and he started to curse.

 

_ I should have known better … the last food I had was with eggs, probably the food was already rotten. I need to … why do I feel so sick? _

 

         Unsteadily, he got back to his feet, dragged himself to the next room and threw up in his chamber pot. He was resting on his knees, hands pressed on the dirty floor next to the pot. After only dry heaves came up, he stumbled back to his feet, looked for a jug with water, drank it in one go and returned back to his other room, where he collapsed on his mattress again. He felt a tight grip around his chest and struggled for air.

 

_ What’s wrong with me? I can’t leave like this. I need to rest, to sleep and I need air. Why is it so hard … to breathe …? _

 

         He opened his mouth wide to catch some more air. His heart was galloping like a wild horse in his chest and he screamed out loud in pain.

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


“Aramis! Aramis, where are you going?” Porthos shouted at his friend who was racing through the courtyard, his coat flapping around his legs.

 

         Aramis stopped abruptly and turned around, his eyes blazing, his unruly hair forming a dark lion’s  mane. Porthos would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

 

“What?” Aramis snapped. “Aren’t you coming?”

 

         He was radiating impatience and fury, his beloved hat a miserable bundle in his nervous hands.

 

“Of course, we are coming, Aramis, but do you know where you are going?”

 

         Aramis gasped. Deep in his anger, in his thirst for revenge, he had never thought about how they would find Maurice. They had no idea of where he lived.

 

“I … I don’t know …”  Aramis muttered, his shoulders slumping under an invisible weight as he realised how right Porthos was.

 

“Hey, Aramis, we will find him!” D’Artagnan tried to reassure the medic patting his shoulder on his way to the horses.

 

“But where? How? Paris is a haystack where a needle called Maurice is hidden!” He shouted, kicking a stone which landed on Porthos’ foot with a splash of mud.

 

         Porthos came to him, hands raised in a calming gesture. Aramis recoiled, as if the mere physical contact, even with his best friend, could burn his skin. Porthos lowered his arms and nodded, understandingly. He was as angry as him, but maybe he could hide it better. 

 

“Alright, now, calm yourself, let’s take the horses and first, we will visit his usual taverns. I can think of a few ideas which could turn a mute into a chatterbox.” Porthos explained with a predatory smile, his knuckles making a popping sound as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

 

         Aramis sagged, a little ashamed of his behaviour. He was a soldier, not an avenging angel. He had to think like a strategist, to plan their research, to remain calm and professional.

 

         Porthos put a tentative hand on his friend’s back - Aramis had to refrain from leaning into the comforting touch - and he followed d’Artagnan. Soon, the three friends were roaming the streets of Paris. Their first stop was at the Wren where they questioned a few regulars who told them the name of a few other taverns. After squeezing a few throats, tickling a few bellies with their daggers, scaring a few drunkards and charming a few maids, after visiting  _ The Raging Fox _ ,  _ the Smoking Rabbit _ and the  _ Royal Sword _ , which was royal only in name, they finally caught a lead. 

 

Following it, they arrived in a narrow alley, unpaved and filthy. The last house on the right looked more like a cabin than a house. A small window whose shutters were almost out of their hinges, a door which had known better days, and walls in no better state. The three Musketeers walked in big puddles of muddy water. The sudden and heavy shower of hail hadn’t been enough to clean the street covered in waste and other disgusting things. In a tacit agreement, they positioned themselves on each side of the door. Aramis on the right, d’Artagnan on the left and Porthos ready to play the role of a ram if the tenant of the place refused to open the door. They could have chosen a discreet plan of attack, but the urgency of the matter didn’t need delicacy or diplomacy, it was time to attack the enemy.

 

“In the name of his Majesty, open this door.” Porthos roared.

 

         D’Artagnan put a hand to his ear at the loud sound. 

 

“Open the door, now!” Aramis shouted now as loudly as Porthos.

 

         They heard muffled sounds behind the door, shuffles of feet, metallic clattering. Aramis nodded at Porthos who took a few steps backwards then walked into the door, his right broad shoulder first. The rotten wood didn’t resist and Porthos stumbled into the room, nearly colliding with a terrified Maurice Coulon, who stared at him with a reddish face. Aramis and d’Artagnan followed him shortly afterwards. There was no other exit and the first move of Maurice was to rush toward the narrow window, but a well placed foot of Aramis stopped his attempt making him trip and nearly fly across the room. Maurice felt himself hauled by a big hand when Porthos seized his doublet to pick him up. Porthos held him at arm’s length, as if the mere sight of the man disgusted him even more than his sour breath and the smell of filth which was filtering through his patched clothes. He could smell his sweat that was plastered on his forehead, while he was pressing him against the wall. Aramis approached while d’Artagnan searched the two spartan rooms for possible clues.

 

“Now,  _ Monsieur, _ you will follow us, as, by order of his Majesty the King, you are under arrest.”

 

“I did … nothing!” Maurice choked out, his breath ragged as his throat was constricted by the big hand which was restraining him.

 

“Nothing good, you are right.” Porthos snickered.

 

         D’Artagnan approached them two sheets of paper in his hand. 

 

“Who wrote these letters?” He asked in a low voice.

 

“I don’t … know.” Maurice breathed out shakingly. “Please, let me go.”

 

“Who wrote these letters?” D’Artagnan insisted. “Did you read them? What do they mean? What is this riddle … _The past is never where you think you left it?_ What does it mean?” He finished in a shout, his voice faltering with anger.

 

“Pl … ease …” Maurice whimpered. “I … can’t …”

 

“You can’t speak? You can’t read? You can’t what?” D’Artagnan hissed approaching his face from the man’s ear, a dangerous glow in his eyes. “So you will become a Red Guard again?” 

 

“No … It’s not ...”

 

“A Red Guard?” Aramis asked.

 

D’Artagnan showed him the letters, his eyes still fixed on the man’s drawn features.

 

“And what did you do to obtain a favour from the Captain of the Red Guards, mmh?” Aramis asked with venom in his voice.

 

Porthos tightened his grip on Coulon’s throat, his arm a heavy calming weight on Aramis’ right shoulder, keeping him from just strangling the man.

 

         Maurice tried to pry the strong fingers open but his bloody hand fell down his side as he swayed on his feet, his eyes shortly rolling back into their socket before focusing again. He felt crowded now, with all three men invading his personal space, and he began to suffocate. Aramis slid sideways to let him breathe. Interrogating an unconscious suspect wouldn’t be easy. 

 

“Porthos, something is wrong.” D’Artagnan whispered, seeing the now pale face of their prisoner, the sweaty hair plastered on his hot forehead, the soaked shirt and the smell of defecation.

 

“Yes, what he did was wrong. Let’s take that bastard to the garrison. And don’t try anything, you filthy rat!” Porthos growled taking a step towards the man whose complexion was now a few shades paler as he struggled to catch his breath.

 

         Aramis took the man’s wounded hand and turned it slowly to reveal the bloody handkerchief.

 

“Mmmh … Fine linen, not yours, I bet.”

 

“I found it.” Maurice mumbled his hands reaching for the wall at his back to steady himself as a flash of pain ran from his palm up his arm. He could feel his heart racing and a sharp pain in his chest. He tried to breathe but he couldn’t. He swayed dangerously and was about to collapse onto the floor.

 

D’Artagnan frowned, the man’s physical reactions weren’t only induced by fear. Under the stubble covering his cheeks, under the strands of lank hair, the skin was turning grey and was glistening with a sheen of sweat. It was something all too familiar. He was interrupted in his thoughts by Aramis’ ironic tone.

 

“Hey, my friends, we should walk more often in the streets of Paris, we would end dressed as richly as courtiers.” Aramis joked in a smooth tone. “Now, tell us who your employer is!” He roared suddenly, turning from a cat into a lion in an instant. 

 

         Coulon felt dizzy. He could hear his palpitating heart roaring in his ears. The tightness in his chest became worse each minute and he was frightened by his racing heartbeat.

 

“Aramis, let’s take him to the Captain.” D’Artagnan interrupted as Aramis seized the collar of the spy. 

 

         Aramis slid between Porthos and Maurice with a graceful movement of the hip, his back brushing Porthos’ chest, to spit into the man’s face these words:

 

“We should kill you on the spot.” His eyes were pure fury. “I would make you endure everything that Athos has had to endure because of you … and you know what?” He shouted again sending his fist into the man’s stomach “You know what? No need to tell us. We already know who your employer is and he will fall with you; as you will tell everything before a judge to save your life. Prison is better than being hanged in the middle of the town, where everyone will watch you die! Porthos, your turn.” Aramis shouted angrily.

 

         Porthos hadn’t released the man’s throat. He could feel the rage emanating from Aramis’ body and knew he had to act quickly before his friend did something he would regret. Aramis didn’t move, in spite of what he had just said, his eyes were still burning holes into the man’s eyes.

 

“Aramis.” Porthos breathed.

 

         Aramis was startled at both the words and the feeling of his friend’s ragged breath on his nape. 

 

“Aramis, move.” Porthos repeated between his teeth. “We need him alive.”

 

At these words, Maurice opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it as the pain in his hand and chest made him hiss. Porthos made him turn around to tie his wrists with his scarf but the man, nimble as a cat, wriggled in the big man’s hold and he managed to flee. 

 

         Everything happened in a flash. D’Artagnan threw himself in front of the open door. Maurice rushed to the door, a thin blade in his left hand, Aramis, coming to his senses, jumped to knock him off his feet and Porthos’ heavy fist landed on the man’s jaw. 

 

“Oh, no you don’t flee, you vermin!” He snarled menacingly at the very moment when Maurice collapsed in a dirty shivering heap, gasping for air and shouting in pain.

 

         Porthos, pushing him down onto the floor until the man kissed the dusty tiles,   pressed his knee firmly on the small of his back, a smile of victory on his lips, in the stance of the hunter having finally caught a rabid wolf.

 

         He was grinning contentedly at Aramis, when they heard a hissing sound and turned towards d’Artagnan, just in time to see him bending at the waist, clutching at his hip, where blood trickled between his clenched fingers. 

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	67. Forget about the past.

 

⚔⚔

  


          Captain Tréville listened to the rain drops falling on the rooftop of his office. Some cold air was streaming through an open window and he stood up from the chair next to Athos’ head in order to close it.

 

          Athos was tossing around in his sleep, fighting another nightmare containing demons of his past. The Captain of the Musketeers was glad that Aramis had made sure that Athos was lying flat on his stomach, so he wouldn’t rip his stitches again. At least he hoped that they would hold this time. He returned to his seat and sat down slowly. Another soft moan escaped from Athos’ lips. Tréville wasn’t sure if that was a sign that he would wake up soon.

 

“Athos?” He tried it in a low voice, but his Lieutenant didn’t react.

 

_Perhaps the small trip into the courtyard was still too early for him and I doubt that sitting in front of the destroyed stable did little to help him settle and relax. I really hope that the others will find Coulon before Rochefort. Have you heard us talking earlier?_

 

          Tréville looked at his still sleeping Musketeer.

 

_The shadows of the past seem to haunt you. I wish I could ease your pain, take away all those bad memories. It won’t be easy for you to find out that Coulon, was the man attacking you. He was thrown out of the Red Guards after what he did to you. I always thought he ended up in prison or left Paris … I don’t know why he stayed … and how Rochefort made him work for him again … after he had lost his position in the Red Guards because of Rochefort’s deed. True, Coulon hadn’t stopped Rochefort as he whipped you. If I recall it correctly it was Coulon who captured you by the order of Rochefort. An evil man … I should have ensured that he had left Paris … I should have checked on his whereabouts, but …_

 

          Tréville was jolted out of his daydreams as Athos moaned a little louder and tried to turn himself onto his back.

 

“Stop that, Athos! You’ll only hurt yourself.” Tréville warned his Lieutenant and pushed him with his hand on his upper back down onto the mattress.

 

“Hmm …” Athos sluggishly turned his head into Tréville’s direction and opened his eyes.

 

          He blinked several times, until he slowly woke up and recognised where he was. The pain in his back was still hurting him, but it was less severe than before. Nevertheless Tréville could see Athos’ pained face as he closed his eyes for a short moment again.

 

“You want a pain potion?” Tréville asked, already busy reaching for a cup that Aramis had prepared earlier.

 

          Athos slightly shook his head or at least he tried, but lying on his stomach made it merely impossible.

 

“Damn!” He cursed, while closing his eyes frustrated again.

 

“What is it?” Tréville asked.

 

          Athos stayed silent.

 

 _What is it? I feel so tired, so useless._ _The garrison was nearly erased by a fire. Some of the other Musketeers were hurt and I can’t do anything. Why is Tréville still so kind, so supporting, so generous? After all what happened …? He has other things to do, other stuff than to worry about but me. Now he is sitting next to me. Is he watching me? Does he fear that I’ll try to kill Rochefort on my own? Where is everybody else? Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan? Wait … they have left to … Tréville said something earlier … what was it?_

 

          Angrily, Athos squeezed his eyes shut and tried to turn onto his back. He felt Tréville’s hands, helping him to roll over. Without saying a word.

 

_Aramis would have told me that I should stay on my belly, but I can’t. This position is horrible. At least Tréville isn’t stopping me._

 

          Athos felt a soft pillow under his back, which Tréville had positioned under his injured side. He let out a loud sigh while trying to find the best position which would hurt the least. Uneasily, he shifted on the white sheets, until he finally found a position that was more comfortable.

 

_The pain potion isn’t such a bad idea._

 

          Athos tried to reach with his right hand for the cup Tréville had set back down on the small table near to the head of the bed, he’d not been able to reach it earlier. Tréville brought it and handed the cup to him. He still stayed silent, but his blue eyes watched his soldier carefully.

 

          Athos managed to drink some gulps. The bitter taste of it was still unpleasant, but he knew it would soon help. With a slightly trembling hand he gave it back to Tréville. After that, he let his head drop back onto the pillow.

 

“Where is everybody?” Athos softly asked.

 

          Tréville had waited and worried about this moment for the last hour when Athos was sleeping. He had thought about if he should tell him that it was Coulon who attacked him or if he shouldn’t give him a name, but a rough description. In the end he decided to tell Athos everything he knew, because Athos knew him too well. He would figure out that he was lying or leaving things out. He was finally getting better which made him think more clearly.

 

“I have sent Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan to arrest the accomplice of O’Sullivan.” He said in a neutral tone.

 

“So, you have found out who attacked me at the _Seine_ and set …” Athos paused and swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready to finish his sentence.

 

_Why do I feel so strange, so moody? I could cry and I fear I won’t stop sobbing then. I am emotional like a pregnant woman._

 

          Seeing the whole extent of the destruction the fire had caused in the courtyard earlier, had left him empty. He couldn’t stop blaming himself for what had happened. At first he had tried to distract himself with the sketches d’Artagnan showed him, then with the soup, some white bread and an apple he slowly ate. As he couldn’t stand the view of the burned buildings any longer he had closed his eyes. He had used all his remaining strength to cover his face and his inner feelings, from his brothers. With his eyes closed, sleep had drawn him back immediately, but later on the balcony, watching the white hail covering the garrison ground his view had wandered back to the dark wood, the complete destruction, the horrible fire.

          His brothers nearly died because a mad man wanted to see him dead … How could he live with that if this evil person had succeeded? Too many other people had already died, because of him. The noble-man, the seamstress, Ana-Josefa …

          The words of his Captain drew Athos back. Tréville nodded slightly.

 

“Yes, we have!”

 

“Who is it? Do I know him?” Athos asked with a rough voice.

 

          He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t dare to do it, because he knew what he would see, the black wood of the former infirmary.

 

_This bastard nearly killed Porthos as well. I should be with them right now. I should hunt this man … but I can’t. I am a burden … a heavy burden for my friends … maybe it would have been better if the poison had done its job … Stop thinking about such foolish things Athos. How would it be any better, knowing that my brothers were mourning me ..._

 

          Tréville sensed Athos’ deep frustration.

 

“I’ll tell you later. Try to sleep …”

 

“I don’t want to sleep!” Athos angrily shouted at his commanding officer, but regretted his outburst at once. “I am sorry, Captain … It’s just that I can’t do anything right now ...”

 

          Athos paused, frantically trying to control his emotions. He could hear his racing  heartbeat and he forced himself to breathe in and out several times to calm himself.

 

 _Calm, Athos! Calm … breathe … you know how to do it … my chest feels constricted_ _…_ _why does it hurt so much … ? Everything hurts so much …_

 

          In the meantime Tréville fought a fight with himself. He was well aware that the fact of the truth about the man who had attacked Athos would upset him even more. The past days hadn’t been easy for any of them, but Athos had fought to survive, survive a deadly poison, survive a severe injury, survive a blazing fire. While his body finally started to heal and regain strength, his soul seemed to need more time to catch up with all these happenings.

 

          Right now he was in the state to blame himself for everything. Athos was good at that and for a short moment Tréville feared that the news about Maurice would drive Athos back into filthy taverns, back to the nameless and lonely friend which was alcohol, back to the old times which his friends had fought so hard to help him to overcome by keeping him near to them.

 

          How he wished that Aramis would have been here right now. Of course Aramis had offered to stay, to help, to take care of his stubborn brother, but he had sent him away. A Captain needs the capability to delegate. If he still were a normal Musketeer, he would have rode with them, but his first responsibility was the King and Queen, his garrison and his men, and right now Athos.

 

“Athos, I understand you, more than you know ... At the moment it’s not time for you to chase through the streets of Paris and to kill the man who hurt you.” He paused, making sure that Athos was listening to his words and wasn’t still wallowing in self-pity.

 

          They both locked eyes for a very short moment and Tréville could see some glistening wetness in Athos’ eyes, but the tears didn’t come.

 

“I do know him, right? That’s why you are waiting with your answer. I’ve met him before … I should have recognised him down at the _Seine_ , but I was too occupied with myself. I let my guard down … I ignored your direct order … if I’d stayed at the palace none of this would have happened …” Athos swallowed again.

 

“Would you do me a favour?” Tréville asked now impatiently.

 

“What can I do for you, Captain?” Athos asked in a low voice.

 

“Stop that and that’s an order!” Tréville said a bit louder.

 

“I …” Athos sighed aloud.

 

“Rochefort wanted to see you dead. I don’t know why … if I have to guess I would say because he is insane, envious, crazy … pick your choice. He used a very cruel method to see you suffer and when he found out that he couldn’t reach his goal he proposed to the King that he meets you at the palace. If you hadn’t left the palace on Friday - and you left because you didn’t feel well - and needed fresh air … he would have tried it another time … at the palace, at the garrison, somewhere on a small road in between. As long as O’Sullivan was alive he had the perfect scapegoat. With him dead he wasn’t able to move in like that. I can’t guarantee that he won’t try to kill you again, but I think he will stop for now, because otherwise all hints would lead too obviously in his direction. He has given us a concrete description of his accomplice and he will try to get rid of him very soon. Right now the others are looking for this man in order to arrest him first. If we have him, we will make him talk. He will confess that Rochefort is the true perpetrator and then you won’t be in any danger anymore.”

 

          Tréville looked into Athos’ glistening eyes. He could see Athos’ tired face, but at least his Lieutenant no longer looked as though he was knocking on heavens door. Athos stayed silent, his hands were still trembling, but Tréville thought it still had to do with the blood loss. Then he continued:

 

“You are well aware of that, Athos! So stop blaming yourself for what has happened to the garrison, to some of the men and what could have happened to Porthos! You are a soldier, they are soldiers, getting injured, facing death is all part of our profession, every single day! You wouldn’t blame Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan or me, if what has happened to you, had happened to one of us instead.”

 

Tréville paused.

 

“No, I wouldn’t.” Athos quietly admitted.

 

          He felt another shiver run through his body and he tried to breathe through the pain. He coughed and his lungs struggled for oxygen. Tréville stood up and helped him in a more upright position while patting his back softly. As Athos’ breathing settled he fetched another cup with water in it.

 

 _God, when will it stop?_ Athos squeezed his eyes shut and waited until the pain vanished.

“Here drink!” Tréville handed him the cup and Athos drank some more sips.

 

“So who is the man who attacked me?” Athos wondered loud.

 

          Tréville reached for a sheet of paper and gave it to Athos after he had returned the cup.

 

“Do you recognise this man?”

 

          Athos looked at the sketch. The man looked familiar, but he hadn’t recognized him at the _Seine_. He was behind him, but later he had seen him staring at him lying on the cold floor. Athos closed his eyes, in front of his inner eye a sudden picture appeared, which reminded him of the man on the sketch: much younger, with shorter hair, no beard … Suddenly a jolt went through Athos’ whole body and he groaned out loud. He could feel his palms sweating, his pulse racing, his throat felt dry and he had the feeling that all oxygen left him at once.

 

“Don’t tell me ... that Maurice Coulon is ... still alive. I thought he died … after what he did to me ... all those years ago. Didn’t Porthos wounded him ... fatally with his sword?” Athos whispered while shaking his head over and over again and breathing in heavily.

 

          Tréville observed his Lieutenant closely. It was obvious that the new revelation had agitated Athos. He had shut his eyes, blinked several times and opened them again. His mouth was wide open and he started to breathe more heavily. The memories flooding back in his mind were pulling him back. Athos had a distant look in his eyes.

 

          Five years ago. He could still hear the screams of Ana-Josefa in his ears. He had tried to help but strong hands had suddenly grabbed his arms and pulled them together behind his back. A punch in his stomach had made him stumble. He had screamed in pain stumbling over his own feet, several times he fell down on the ground, while they dragged him out of the room out to the place through a secret passage, down in the dark cellar where the freezing wet air felt like a slap on his burning skin. They led him away from the _château_ , over a wooden bridge that crossed a small stream, leading to the gardens _à la française_. Surprisingly, he had registered the heady perfume of the roses heated by the bright sun. At last, after he had stumbled several times, after he had been roughly hauled on his feet, they arrived near to the treeline of the nearby wood, where they bound him and started to whip him. He could still smell the bad odour of Maurice, the stark contrast between this disgusting odour and the sweetness of the roses making it even more unbearable. Remembering the whole occasion he suddenly  smelled the garlic in his nose. Maurice hadn’t washed himself for months and it took him weeks afterwards before he could smell this odour without thinking about what had happened to him.

 

          Suddenly Athos felt sick. He watched himself from far away. He recognised his hands starting to tremble, but he couldn’t stop it. He could hear his heartbeat palpitating louder and stronger and once again he felt dizzy. Everything was spinning in his head and he pressed himself deeper into the mattress. The thundering, knocking sound of his heart wouldn’t stop. He opened his mouth wide, struggling for more fresh air to control his emotions, to control his body, which tricked him once more. He groaned out loud as the pain in his back intensified, the shivers running down his spine straining the healing wound. Sweat was covering his chest, his face.

 

          In the distance he could hear Tréville’s concerned voice, while he was struggling to catch his breath. The paper he held in his hands slowly made its way to the wooden floor as Athos dropped the hand, which had held the paper sluggishly on his chest.

 

“Athos, calm! Breathe! Slowly! In and out! ... Athos, do you hear me? Athos. Breathe! We will arrest this bastard. He will be punished for his deeds. Athos, speak to me …”

 

          Tréville put his hand in Athos’ and removed it softly from his chest. He pressed it several times until he felt a soft pressure. He tried to bring his Lieutenant back to the here and now. Athos’ green eyes were wide open, looking in the distance, filled with horror and pain. Anxiously Tréville put his other hand on Athos’ chest and felt his fast heartbeat.

 

_Damn, I should have waited, I knew it. Aramis will be angry._

 

“Come on son, talk to me. Calm … it will be over soon. This man won’t hurt you again …”

 

          Athos felt the touch of Tréville’s hand. He struggled to get rid of it as he realised that he was going to be sick again. He wanted to stop it, but he couldn’t. The memories of his past were too strong. He would never forget the day, this unbearable pain and shame. He had been unable to fight those bastards. He had run into a trap. The bad memories, the horrible pain of every single lash on his back, the smell of his own blood in his nose, he still could feel and taste it.

          Tréville saw Athos’ face becoming nearly yellow. As fast as he could he reached for the bowl next to the bed, while Athos bent over and vomited the little content of what he had eaten earlier into it. Sweat was glistening on his face. The Captain of the Musketeers softly stroked over his back.

 

“Easy, Athos. Easy, you are safe! Try to breathe more evenly. That’s it.” Tréville continued to talk to his soldier, but he wasn’t sure, if Athos could hear him.

 

“Let it out. Let it all out. You will feel better!” He encouraged Athos.

 

          Tears were running down the face of the swordsman and he hadn’t any strength left to pull himself together. After Athos finished dry heaving, the Captain helped him to lie back and bathed his face with a cool washcloth. Cleaning softly his beard and the rest of the tears that had rolled over his face. Athos had closed his eyes again and tried to control his breathing. At least his body had stopped trembling.

 

“I am sorry …” He mumbled.

 

          Tréville softly smiled.

 

“It’s alright, son. Your reaction is normal. We’ll catch this bastard soon. Promise! He’ll pay for his crimes.”Tréville said the last part in a grim voice.

 

          Silence settled between both men, while Tréville checked Athos’ pulse a second time. His heart was still beating fast, but had settled a little. Tréville sighed out loud then he softly pressed Athos’ hand.

 

“Calm down now, you’ll be better soon, I know it! You have fought so much, you will fight the rest too!”

 

          Athos opened his eyes. He could see the worried look in Tréville’s eyes and tried to make a joke.

 

“Ha … I think I just had a panic attack.” Athos stated in a mocking tone. “What will come next?” He sighed.

 

“Next you will be better!” Tréville rested his hand on Athos’ chest a little bit longer.

 

“At least your heart has stopped galloping!” He smiled again. “I know you hate to hear it, but I advise you to try to rest, try to sleep.”

 

“I wish I could, but when I close my eyes, I see that day six years ago …” Athos swallowed hard.

 

“The day Rochefort …” Tréville didn’t continue.

 

“Yes, the day he whipped me, it still makes me sick.” Athos laughed dryly. “I thought I would die, if it hadn’t been …” He paused again, while a single tear rolled down his cheek.

 

          Tréville softly wiped it away.

 

“But you didn’t - your brothers didn’t let you down and they won’t let you down this time.  There is a reason why we have the motto “one for all”.” Tréville softly said.

 

          Athos went silent again, he felt horrible. Tréville rested his hand on his shoulder. The soft grip felt good, he wasn’t alone, not back then, not now. Slowly he sorted his thoughts.

 

“Why now?” Athos suddenly asked.

 

“What?”

 

“Rochefort? Why does he want to kill me now?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe Rochefort fears that you will stop him from doing whatever he is planning to do …”

 

“It doesn’t make any sense to me, I only know that this man is dangerous. If we can get hold of Maurice we can make him testify against Rochefort.” Athos slowly said.

 

“Perhaps it is the difference between Rochefort and you. Rochefort still lives in the past, you live in the present. Forget about the past, you cannot change it.”

 

“I know that very well …” Athos sighed again.

 

          He felt his shirt plastered on his chest. His own sweat had drenched it.

 

“Uhh … can you fetch me another shirt from my room, please?” Athos softly asked, feeling uncomfortable in the soaked one.

 

“You can have this.” Tréville stood up and reached for a new one. “D’Artagnan brought it earlier for you.”

 

          Tréville cleaned Athos’ upper body gently with warm water and a towel, then he helped him into the new shirt. Athos didn’t realise it but Tréville also scanned Athos’ bandage around his lower back, but the linen was still white. The swordsman sighed out loud, the fresh fabric felt better on his skin. Athos tucked himself deeper in his blanket and tried to get warmer.

 

“Can I have a second blanket?” Athos asked still shivering slightly.

 

          Tréville reached for another one and spread it over Athos’ weak body and wrapped him into it.

 

“How is your wound?” Tréville cautiously asked, while sitting down again.

 

“The stitches are still intact.” Athos tried to smile. “Perhaps it’s best that I follow your advice and try to rest a little longer.

 

          Exhausted he sank deeper into the pillow but he didn’t close his eyes. He was too convinced that the horrible nightmare from five years ago would haunt him in his sleep. Angrily he stared at the wooden ceiling and tried to calm his breathing. Tréville wanted to add something but they were disturbed by the sounds of neighing horses, clattering hooves and loud calling in the courtyard.

 

**Montpoupon** where Athos was whipped.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

 

 


	68. Did you say fine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Debbie, Pally and Lady Neve. Enjoy. ;-)

⚔⚔

 

“D’Artagnan!” Porthos and Aramis shouted in unison.

 

         Aramis rushed towards the young man whose eyes were squeezed shut, bracing him with his hands on his shoulders as he swayed.

 

“Here, lean against the wall, let me see.” Aramis soothed him. “Porthos, can you handle the rat alone?”

 

“Of course. Anyway, he is out cold, I don’t know why, I didn’t hit that hard.” He frowned looking down at his unmoving prey.

 

“You don’t know your strength, my friend.” Aramis smiled, but he felt that something was wrong with their prisoner, and it wasn’t due to Porthos’ big fists. 

 

         D’Artagnan was breathing heavily, his two hands clutching at the flesh at the top of his thigh where the blood slowly dripped. Aramis knelt before him and lifted a hand towards the wound but d’Artagnan swatted it away. 

 

“I am fine. We have no time.” He whimpered.

 

         Porthos’ chuckle made him glare at his friend.

 

“ _ Fine. _ Athos’  _ fine _ or my  _ fine _ ?” Aramis asked, gently closing his hand around the clenched fingers.

 

“MY fine. It’s just a scratch, let’s go to the garrison.”

 

“Stop that! You’ll only slow us down with your stubbornness.” Aramis snapped. “Can you try to sit down?” He added, his tone softer.

 

         D’Artagnan nodded without letting go of his wounded hip. He slid against the wall and choked out a scream when the cut was jostled by his movement. Aramis helped him into an almost lying position.

 

“Now, will you let me see?” He asked gently.

 

D’Artagnan nodded again and lifted his hands from his thigh grimacing as the edges of the cut moved.

 

“Fine? Did you say fine?” Aramis chided. “You do know that this one will require a few stitches?”

 

“The apprentice learning from his mentor.” Porthos snickered. 

 

“Not fun … argh! Aramis!” D’Artagnan moaned, gritting his teeth against the pain. “Let me go, I will be fine.”

 

“If I hear the word  _ fine  _ one more time, I will knock you out and stitch you on the post.” Aramis growled while peeling away the leather and fabric which adhered to the cut. 

 

“With what?” D’Artagnan murmured.

 

“With what … what?”

 

“You have nothing to stitch me here.” 

 

“Will you shut your mouth, you cheeky boy!” Aramis laughed.

 

         They heard a groan and raised their head in time to see Porthos seizing Maurice’s hair to press his face forcefully against the floor.

 

“He was waking up.” Porthos explained sheepishly. 

 

Aramis smiled, all the while tending to d’Artagnan the best he could with what little he had. He tore up the leather of the trousers and the fabric of the young man’s underwear to have better access to the wound and slipped his handkerchief in the opening, pressing it gently on the cut. D’Artagnan stiffened and braced himself on his hands to raise from the floor.

 

“Shhh. It’s alright.” Aramis calmed him down, his other hand on the young man’s neck.

 

“I know, it’s nothing, but …” D’Artagnan muttered.

 

“I didn’t say nothing, I said you would be alright, as soon as I use my skills on you.”

 

Aramis took d’Artagnan’s hand and guided it to the cut.

 

“Keep pressing the handkerchief here to stem the blood. It shouldn’t take long, the cut isn’t very deep … but it’s long.” 

 

He stood up and he tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt , using his  _ main-gauche _ to cut a makeshift bandage from the fabric.

 

“But …!” D’Artagnan exclaimed.

 

“Shh ... it’s an old shirt.” Aramis smiled while wrapping the bandage around d’Artagnan’s thigh to maintain the handkerchief. “Now, lean on me and let’s see if you can walk.”

 

“Of course, I can … mmhh …” D’Artagnan moaned as Aramis helped him to stand up.

 

         He braced himself for a moment against the wall, then, he took a few unsteady steps, breathing in deeply through his nose, his nostrils flaring with the effort. Porthos and Aramis watched him for a moment, frowning worriedly.

 

“Let’s go!” He said with something of Athos’ commanding tone in his voice. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Porthos, your package doesn’t seem well!” Aramis shouted.

 

         He was riding behind his friend and alongside with d’Artagnan, keeping an eye on him. Porthos had slung Coulon like a dead pig across the neck of his strong horse. The man had his wrists and ankles tightly tied. 

 

“What?” Porthos asked, turning around.

 

“Your package has just vomited on the roadside.” 

 

         With  _ great _ delicacy, Porthos seized Maurice by the hair to look down at his face. D’Artagnan sniggered in spite of the pain flaring through his whole left side.

 

“Porthos!” Aramis chided. “You are a brute. Something is wrong with him.”

 

“Nah, it’s the motion of the horse!” 

 

_ No, Porthos, something is really wrong. We should check on him, otherwise we will bring a corpse to the garrison.  _

 

“Porthos, stop!” A frustrated Aramis shouted.

 

“We have no time to stop!”

 

“Stop. I won’t be long!”

 

“Alright.” Porthos growled pulling the reins to stop his horse. 

 

         Aramis dismounted swiftly and carefully approached their prisoner. He heard a whimper from behind his back and looked up to see d’Artagnan hunched over the neck of his horse, breathing harshly.

 

“Alright, d’Artagnan?” He asked worriedly.

 

“Mmh. Fine.”

 

“As we can see. Don’t worry, I will be quick.”

 

         Aramis put his hand on the filthy forehead of Coulon and he could feel the heat of a high fever. His skin had become yellowish and his eyes frantically rolled in their socket. 

 

_ What is it? It can’t be from the ride, or from the cut in his palm… My God, it can be from the cut. Poison? _

 

“Let’s go. We must hurry!”

 

“Now we must hurry?” Porthos asked, stunned. 

 

“Yes, he won’t last very long. He was poisoned or he poisoned himself …”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_At the Garrison_ **

 

“Stay here!” Tréville jumped up from the chair and hurried to the door. 

 

_ Good grief! One day they will give me a heart attack! _ Tréville thought as he bent over the balustrade of the balcony to look down at the courtyard. 

 

_ Why can’t things go smoothly with these four. What happened this time?  _

 

“Aramis, Porthos, what is it?” He shouted.

 

“Nothing, Captain.” Porthos replied dryly. 

 

         He had no sympathy left for the man who had attacked and wounded Athos severely.

 

_ Nothing, of course! _ Tréville snorted inwardly while heading to the courtyard.

 

He stopped in the middle of the stairs because the scene which took place in front of his amazed eyes made him freeze. Everything happened in an instant. When Porthos untied the feet of his prisoner, the man threw himself towards the gate. Porthos launched at him, trying to grip him by the shoulders, Maurice staggered and collapsed. Aramis rushed to haul him onto his feet and keep him from trying to escape again. Tréville was about to give a hand, when something even more surprising and, oh so familiar, happened. Unbelievingly Tréville opened his mouth catching for breath.

 

         Their prisoner stiffened under Aramis’ hold and Maurice’s eyes rolled back into his head, he fell again onto the muddy ground and began to convulse heavily, his back taut backwards like a bow. 

 

_ It’s horrible. It reminds me of Athos’ seizure. Can it be the same thing? Has he been poisoned too?  _ Tréville thought.

 

_ God, no! Please, God, make him stay alive!  _ Aramis thought.

 

He was bent over the prisoner, his hair falling in his eyes, sweat dripping on the filthy constricted face. 

 

“Don’t die, you fool, don’t die!” He growled, a hand pressed on the man’s chest where he could feel his heart galloping like a wild horse. 

 

         When he noticed the foam beginning to form at the corners of Coulon’s wide open mouth, he knew that everything was lost. 

 

“Help me … help …” The dying man was gasping but Aramis knew that he couldn’t do anything for him, they were too late.

 

         Aramis felt tears blurring his vision, tears of anger, of frustration. When Maurice’s convulsions stopped, the medic breathed out something between a sigh and a sob.

 

         Coulon had tried to say something, but he had failed. His hand, which he had pressed on his chest in order to get rid of the unbearable pain of his aching heart, had dropped sluggishly onto the wet courtyard floor. His eyes wide open, stared in horror at something above. He struggled for a last breath, then his head fell back and he died in the same moment. 

 

         Aramis raised his sad eyes when he heard the angry growl of Porthos and he followed his friend’s look which led him to the stairs where Athos, against all reason was trying to descend.

 

         What Aramis saw made him freeze. Athos looked like a ghost. He was hunched over the bannister like a very old man, progressing slowly, carefully treading on the stairs, gripping the wood with both hands. His pale face was shining with sweat, his curls were plastered on his forehead. His shirt clung to his chest as if he had stayed under the rain, but Aramis knew that it wasn’t that. Athos was making desperate efforts to reach the courtyard and it was slowly exhausting him, but his stubbornness and his need for the truth were stronger than the pain. He looked like he would break any minute and Aramis wanted nothing more than to close his arms around him, take him back to his bed and protect him from everything: truth, pain, sorrow, and even from himself.

 

_ What the ...! What is he doing? Athos, will we really need to tie you to your bed?  _ Aramis asked himself.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Tréville quickly joined them, noticing d’Artagnan who leaned with a suspicious clumsiness on a pillar under the balcony, but he didn’t have time to wonder about that, as Aramis had crouched and bent over the shaking figure, trying to restrain Coulon. As he was barely three feet away from the group, Tréville saw Porthos slap his own thigh with an angry growl.

 

         The prisoner had stopped moving, his mouth was covered in a white foam and his eyes stared at the sky with a terrified and terrifying expression. His right hand was pressed on his chest near his heart.

 

_ No. That’s not possible. He can’t be dead! Our only witness is now dead. It never ends!  _

 

         As he approached them, Aramis stood up and shook his head negatively. Porthos sighed loudly before looking at the stairs, which made him sigh again, then growl angrily. Tréville turned around and added his own sigh to the concert when he spotted Athos clumsily descending the stairs.

 

_ Alright, one thing at a time. They drive me crazy but first things first: my Captain’s duties. I must deal with the very useless culprit who lies here. Worst of all, King Louis won’t like this. My God, I am tired! _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Aramis wiped his face with his shoulder and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. He couldn’t help but stare at Athos’ clumsy attempt at joining them into the courtyard. 

 

_ It’s not the time, Athos, please, don’t! _ He thought, while he just wanted to scream, to vent his anger and his frustration.

 

He wanted to run and wrap his friend in his arms to shield him from the reality, he wanted to scream his rage but he was conflicted between his duties as a Musketeer -they were in the middle of an investigation- and his duties and needs as a friend, a brother and a medic.

 

“Is he dead?”  

 

         The words stammered by Athos made Aramis shiver. His voice was so fragile, so desperate and resigned at the same time. 

 

_ Why? Why is life so harsh to you, my friend? You don’t deserve all the pain you’ve had to endure. _

 

__ Porthos had already rushed to Athos’ side, supporting him. Aramis briefly closed his eyes to shut the world out but a low groan startled him and he reacted immediately ordering Porthos, in an angry shout, to take Athos back inside.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A few minutes earlier_ **

 

         Athos was wide awake again. The shouts didn’t sound good. Something was going on. As fast as he could manage, the swordsman put on his trousers and boots and staggered dangerously onto the balcony. He had to pause several times and was grateful that he could stabilise himself on the balustrade. 

 

         With his hands clutching the wooden handrail he bent his head over the bannister and observed what was going on in the courtyard, he could see his brothers with a stranger. He had to blink several times before he could see more clearly and he flinched as he recognised Maurice. He felt the panic rising again, but this time he had himself under better control. Breathing slowly in and out he calmed down telling himself that his brothers had him under arrest. Downstairs, there was a lot of talking going on, mainly between Tréville, Aramis and Porthos, while d’Artagnan stood more towards the side. He had stepped back under the balcony and Athos could only see his dark hair, his head slightly bowed. He could imagine him with his arms crossed on his chest, his hands tucked under his armpits. The young man didn’t look as focused as usual and Athos didn’t understand why. Under normal circumstances, he was always eager to be helpful, the first one to do something useful.

 

         Then everything seemed to happen at once. Maurice tried to free himself, Porthos stopped him with a tough punch on his nose and Maurice collapsed on the wet ground of the courtyard. At least that was what Athos observed, but he wasn’t sure if Porthos really had punched him. He could see Aramis bending down over first the uncontrollable shaking and then unmoving body of Maurice. He seemed to be checking for something? A pulse. Then Aramis stood up and shook his head. Athos couldn’t hear what the medic was saying but he could read his brothers gestures and those told him that Maurice was dead.

 

         Athos stumbled backwards. 

 

_ This can’t be true. He was the last witness to prove that Rochefort was behind the attack against me. No, no, no. This bastard must be alive … I have to check.  _

 

         Athos left his secure place on the balcony and slowly made his way down the steps. He swayed dangerously several times and had to fasten his grip on the balustrade ,  but finally he reached the courtyard. Panting for air he stumbled forwards in the direction of Maurice’s unmoving body, that was when Porthos noticed him. With an angry growl he hurried over to Athos and stopped him from moving any further. He laid a strong arm under one of his armpits and Athos gladly leaned on him. 

 

“Are you insane?” Porthos railed with concern in his voice. “What are you doing here, you belong in bed?” Porthos looked at the pale face of his friend.

 

         Suddenly all eyes were staring at them. Athos closed his eyes for a moment to evade their chiding glances. 

 

“Is he dead?” He asked.

 

“I’m afraid he is.” Aramis slowly admitted.

 

Athos groaned out loud. He felt dizzy, his head was spinning again and he let Porthos bear all his weight.

 

“Take him inside Porthos, now! Or he will collapse next to Coulon’s body!” Aramis angrily shouted. 

 

         Athos could hear Aramis’ concerned voice and he swayed dangerously.

 

_ I must admit that wasn’t such a good idea to come down. My feet are barely holding me upright, without Porthos ... _

 

“No, don’t dare to collapse again, not here, not now .  This bastard is dead and he deserved nothing less.” Porthos quietly whispered in Athos’ ear. 

 

         He could feel the tension in his friend’s whole body, Athos was shivering partly because he was cold, partly because he was angry.

 

“Come!” Porthos ordered and led him back to the stairs. “I’ll be back later, our _ Comte _ needs to rest.” He announced in a mocking tone to cover his own concern. 

 

         Athos wanted to stay, to have a closer look, but Porthos pushed him softly away from Maurice’s dead body. He wriggled a little in Porthos’ hold to turn his head towards d’Artagnan. He tried to lock his eyes with him, but the young man averted his gaze and just nodded with a small smile to reassure him as Porthos dragged him towards the stairs.

 

         Tréville watched the whole scene, something was odd. Not that Athos had come down, he had expected nothing less of his suffering Lieutenant. It was d’Artagnan who kept his distance. Knowing that Athos would be in good hands or even better with Porthos’ caring skill, he turned to the young Gascon.

 

“What happened to you?” 

 

         Silence spread while Porthos was busy helping Athos slowly back up the stairs to Tréville’s office. Aramis waited until Athos was out of range before he said. 

 

“There was a fight and Coulon injured him with a blade.”

 

“How bad is it?”

 

“It’s only a scratch. Nothing severe!” D’Artagnan explained, trying to ignore Aramis’ raised eyebrow.

 

“You should stop imitating Athos!” Aramis rebuked him. 

 

“Go into your room and let Aramis have a closer look!” Tréville ordered. “And don’t tell Athos!”

 

“Why?” Aramis asked irritatedly.

 

“Because he is in no state right now to deal with it.” Tréville sighed.

 

“Would you please enlighten me?” Aramis asked now more curiously.

 

“Not now. There is a corpse lying on the ground and our King won’t be happy to hear about it. Treat d’Artagnan first!” Tréville said in a rough tone.  

 

“I’ll go with Aramis … but first you tell us what’s wrong with Athos?” D’Artagnan looked questioningly at their Captain.

 

Tréville sighed out loud.

 

_ This boy can be as stubborn as his mentor. _

 

“He … he …” Tréville was looking for the right words. 

 

         Carefully he looked up but Porthos and Athos were already in his office.

 

“He what?” Aramis neared Tréville.

 

“I showed him the sketch of Maurice Coulon and he didn’t take it lightly.” Tréville added quietly.

 

         Aramis stared at him.

 

“You did what? Athos wasn’t ready for that yet.” Aramis groaned.

 

“He wanted to know. He would have known, if I hadn’t told him the whole truth.” Tréville looked at  Aramis’ angry face. “Believe me, I knew that it would be hard for him, but I didn’t expect that …”

 

“That what, Captain?” D’Artagnan asked, followed by a hiss. 

 

         His hip started to throb.

 

“He had a panic attack. The memories of his past, of that day when he was whipped, everything came back at once …”

 

“How bad?” Aramis mumbled.

 

“He had trouble breathing, his heart was beating much too fast, he was sick, but I managed to calm him again. Anyway he is still very rattled and I think that Coulon’s death hasn’t help him to settle his nerves. He was hoping that with him as a witness we could accuse Rochefort.”

 

“Alright, first things first, I’ll treat d’Artagnan’s wound. For now Porthos is with Athos and I’m sure that Porthos senses that something is wrong, so he will take good care of our patient. Now, d’Artagnan, I will help you into your room. Captain, I will need my sewing kit, can you please fetch it for me?” Aramis asked.

 

“You should go and check on Athos first!” D’Artagnan demanded.

 

“Oh, no, my dear friend. He will blame me if I let you bleed over the whole courtyard. Move!” Aramis ordered. “Afterwards we will both go and check on him.” Aramis added more softly seeing the concern for his mentor in the Gascon’s eyes.

 

“Mmh … Morbleu … It hurts!” D’Artagnan groaned as he tried to make his leg work properly.

 

         They walked under the balcony, slowly, painfully. When they arrived at the foot of the stairs, d’Artagnan raised his head to look up at the balcony with a worried glance, but Athos wasn’t standing there. He gingerly lifted his left foot to put it on the first step, hiding his pain under his long hair. 

 

“Your right foot, first, it will be easier. Lean on me.”

 

         D’Artagnan tried to use the bannister instead of his friend’s shoulders, but he swayed and the fire in his thigh made him wince.

 

“Mmh …”

 

“I thought it was nothing, that you were fine, just a scratch.” Aramis teased letting d’Artagnan lean on him more and more heavily. 

 

“Sh …gnnn …  up … ‘mis!” 

 

“Shgnup, yourself!” Aramis laughed.

 

         D’Artagnan straightened and tried to push himself from Aramis, using the bannister as a crutch. He clung to it for a while, closing his eyes and reaching for his wound. He breathed heavily, his forehead covered in sweat.

 

“You know, you remind me of someone. Please, be sensible, lean on me.” Aramis pleaded opening his arms in an inviting gesture.

 

         D’Artagnan braced himself against the wood and tried to glare at his friend but he failed as his eyes were now filled with unshed tears. Aramis approached him slowly and ducked under his armpit.

 

“Now, lean on me.” He ordered with a smile which softened his tone. “There is no shame in being hurt and no shame in being helped. Don’t try so hard to copy Athos.” 

 

“I …”

 

         Aramis sent him a wink and they resumed their walk. When they arrived at d’Artagnan’s door, the young man was pale, silent and sweating. Aramis guided him onto his bed where he fell heavily, unable to stifle his cry of pain. The room was brightened by several candles and Aramis’ medical kit had already been opened on the bedside table, but the Captain had left before they arrived. 

 

“Take off your clothes.” Aramis ordered while preparing his needles and thread.

 

         D’Artagnan didn’t move or answer, surprised, Aramis turned around and approached the bed where he sat down carefully, facing his friend.

 

“D’Artagnan, I can’t stitch your wound if I can’t see it. I can help you …”

 

“No it’s fine … mmh … I will do it.”

 

         He tried to sit upright but the pain made him see a myriad of stars and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

 

“Please.” He whispered defeated.

 

         Aramis cautiously took off d’Artagnan’s trousers but the young man gripped his wrist with a horrified look when he reached for his undergarments. Aramis coughed, embarrassed.

 

“I need to see the wound … so …” He grimaced, well aware that it was very embarrassing for his young friend even if a soldier’s life meant giving up a certain form of modesty. “May I?”

 

         D’Artagnan nodded reluctantly, closing his eyes, but he was grateful when he felt Aramis covering him with a blanket, only leaving the wound visible. He softly prodded at the neatly cut edges then he washed it with soft movements.

 

“Do you want to drink something … er … strong? Or I can brew valerian root but it will take a while to be ready.”

 

“Just do it.” D’Artagnan breathed out.

 

Aramis snorted softly.

 

“What?”

 

“You took another leaf out of Athos’ book?” 

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing! Ready?” Aramis asked with a gentle smile.

 

         D’Artagnan nodded shakingly biting his lower lip and closing his eyes. Aramis laid his left hand flat above the wound. He felt d’Artagnan’s muscle contracting under his palm.

 

“Shhh … Relax.” He soothed as his needle entered the soft skin.

 

         D’Artagnan’s back arched on the bed as he tried to escape the pain.

 

“So … so … rry …Aramis,  it …”  

 

“I know, it hurts. Don’t you want something to ease the pain?”

 

“No!” D’Artagnan snapped, his eyes blazing with determination.

 

“Alright, so try to relax. Breathe slowly, deeply and try to concentrate on something.”

 

         D’Artagnan closed his eyes again and tried to calm down, concentrating on the feeling of Aramis’ warm palm on his side. He couldn’t help but hiss and stiffen when the needle pierced his skin again and again, but it wasn’t the worst, the worst was the thread, he had the feeling of being torn up. 

 

“How … ma … many … more?”

 

“Stitches … er … less than ten.”

 

“How reassuri … ng.” D’Artagnan whimpered.

 

“Do you need a break?”

 

“Mgnnn … noooo. Go on.”

 

“You have never been stitched?” Aramis asked surprised.

 

“Just two stitches, I was very young.”

 

“Younger, you mean!” Aramis smiled.

 

         Aramis ran his thumb over d’Artagnan’s skin before resuming his work. D’Artagnan closed his eyes again and let his mind wander, lulled by Aramis’ voice softly humming a Spanish song. When d’Artagnan moaned again, Aramis told him:

 

“You don’t need to suffer like that. I will prepare you something.”

 

“No, just go on.” D’Artagnan urged him. 

 

“If Athos were here, I would ask him to prepare you as he usually prepares Porthos.” Aramis tried to joke.

 

“Don’t tell Athos, please. I don’t want him to be worried. He doesn’t need it … and …”

 

“And?”

 

“I am not very … proud … of this … wound.”

 

“Are you kidding me? You couldn’t know. Neither of us could have known. So now, shut your mouth, your eyes and … D’Artagnan … can you hear me?” Aramis worriedly looked at his pale friend.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	69. Don’t tell d’Artagnan.

⚔⚔

         Exhausted, Athos dropped onto Tréville’s bed. Porthos expected him to lie down, but Athos didn’t make a move. Concerned, Porthos observed his brother’s face. He looked horrible, his eyes were glistening with a suspicious wetness, around his eyes he could see redness that must hurt, his face was paler than the sheets on the bed and he had a look in his eyes Porthos had only seen once before. That was the night when he had told them about his wife and what she did to his brother. He was panting heavily and Porthos feared that his brother would collapse on the wooden floor of Tréville’s office. 

 

“Woah, what’s wrong with you? Are you in pain? Shall I fetch Aramis?”

  Athos didn’t answer him. In his mind he still had the picture of the dead Maurice Coulon lying there on the courtyard’s floor. At first he had thought that Porthos had killed him with a too tough punch, but as he neared him, he could see white foam around his mouth, which was wide opened and whose lips were slightly blue, his dark eyes staring in horror at something in the distance.

 

_ He was poisoned too, I could have ended like him, dead on the  floor, gasping for air, feeling my heart bursting in my chest until it finally would have stopped beating, blue lips, white vomit, my friends gathering around me ... I was lucky. Rochefort, again, this was Rochefort’s doing …  _

Athos swallowed hard, he tried to get rid of these horrible thoughts and tried to control his shaking hands. He felt hot and cold and sweat was covering his face.

 

“Athos?” Porthos tried again.

         He sat next to his friend on the bed and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder to ground his shaking brother. As Athos didn’t answer, he softly wiped his face with a washcloth that was lying next to Tréville’s bed.

 

“Athos?” Porthos tried again.

“Hmm …”

“What is it? Tell me!”

“He has won.” Athos whispered. His eyes had a distant look.

“Who has won?” Porthos asked curiously.

 

         Athos couldn’t stop shaking.

 

“Athos? Do you hear me? Who has won? What are you talking about?” Porthos spoke much louder than he wanted to finally reach Athos’ attention.

“Rochefort.” Athos mumbled. Then he looked with his blurry eyes in his friend’s face. “We will never ... be able to … to get him, with Maurice, ... our last witness, ... dead.” He slurred, catching for breath and looking down on the floor again.

“Rubbish, sooner or later we will get Rochefort and he has to pay for his crimes! He will pay for what he did to you!” Porthos squeezed Athos’ shoulder softly and then pulled him into a bear hug.

 

         He could feel Athos’ wet shirt and his whole body trembling harder and to his own astonishment his brave and tough friend buried his head on his chest and started to sob. Thick tears were running down his cheeks and falling on Porthos’ shirt. The streetfighter felt Athos’ tears slowly soaking his shirt. For a short moment Porthos was perplexed but then he embraced his brother even stronger and softly stroked his back. Athos leaned into the crook of his neck and let himself be comforted by his brother’s mother hen embrace.

 

“Shh ... it’s alright. Let it out, let it all out. The past days were a horrible time for you. No wonder you are so tense but it’s over.” Porthos softly said into Athos’ ear.

 

         Porthos received no answer, but more sobbing.

 

“Athos, do you hear me? Maurice cannot touch you anymore and Rochefort will get his punishment. You are safe!” He softly whispered in Athos’ ear praying that his brother would stop crying and calm down, while he felt Athos’ rapid pounding heartbeat.

“How can I be safe ... and my friends, and even foreigners ... around me … as long as Rochefort wants to see me ... dead?” Athos sobbed.

“He won’t try anything in the next days. O’Sullivan was his perfect scapegoat, with his death he cannot risk trying it again.” Porthos said in a convincing tone, knowing very well that Athos was right, but calming him was more important right now than agitating him even further.

 

         Rochefort would try again. This man was insane and dangerous, but he was protected by the King, so they couldn’t do anything against him at the moment.  Athos slowly stopped shivering. Porthos could feel Athos’ breathing settling again, but his friend stayed for a while longer in Porthos’ soft embrace. Then he tried to free himself from Porthos’ embrace and the street fighter stopped stroking his back.

 

“What’s wrong with me? Why am I so emotional lately?” Athos suddenly asked in a low voice, still staring at the floor.

“Perhaps it is the last trace of the poison finally leaving your body or because you had to fight so hard to stay alive in the past days.” Porthos answered softly, not letting Athos retreat of his bear hug. “Your body is still weak and your soul was injured too. Don’t forget that. Aramis always says that tears can heal us as well. So don’t be ashamed.” Porthos added.

“I feel so lost.”   

“You are not lost, simply tired and your body is still weak.”

“Don’t tell d’Artagnan.” Athos murmured.

“I won’t. I don’t want to scare the lad.” Porthos softly giggled. “His world would fall apart seeing you like that.” He teased his friend.

“Do you really think that?” Athos whispered.

“Nah, I doubt that. He adores you and he wants to help you and right now he’s worried, like we all are.”

 

         Porthos loosened his grip and forced Athos to look him in his eyes. The eyes were even more red than before, but he had stopped crying and he wasn’t shivering anymore like a leaf. Porthos’ grip on his shoulders was firm but Athos lowered his gaze anyway.

 

“Is that why he barely looked at me in the courtyard? Something was wrong, Porthos? He wasn’t his usual self. He didn’t help as Maurice collapsed on the ground and he didn’t come running to me as I nearly passed out again.”

“So, you really were about to faint. I was right.” Porthos tried to tease him.

“Men don’t faint, but true I nearly collapsed. I felt suddenly very dizzy. I should have stayed in bed.” Athos said slowly.

 

_ I’m still feeling dizzy. My head is spinning and your embrace is the only reason, why I’m not lying flat on Tréville’s office floor. When will it stop? When will all this be over? _

 

“Thanks for not letting me kiss the courtyard floor again.”

 

         Porthos softly pressed his shoulder.

 

“Never! If I can stop it.” Porthos softly said.

“Perhaps d’Artagnan simply needs distance from me. Seeing me weak for days now …” Athos ended his thought.

 

Porthos shook him gently.

 

“Look at me, Athos!”

 

         Athos slowly raised his head but his eyes refused to meet Porthos’.

 

“No, it’s not that.” Porthos softly said.

“What is it? Something was wrong with him.” At last, Athos looked in Porthos’ face and he could see that his friend was holding something back.

“I’ll tell you later. Lie down and sleep. You are exhausted. I can see it written all over your face.”

“I can’t sleep right now.”

“Why?”

“My nightmares are haunting me.” Athos slowly admitted to his friend.

 

_ Wow, I am really not my usual self. Telling Porthos what’s wrong with me. Alright, I won’t tell him that I feel horrible, but I’m sure that he can see that. _

 

“Oh!”

 

_ If he’s admitting this to me, he must be really exhausted. If he was better, he wouldn’t tell me.  _ Porthos thought.

 

         Porthos knew exactly what Athos was referring at. Too many times they had helped him in the past six years to overcome them. Sometimes they had lasted for weeks. In the last year they had nearly completely vanished. Porthos thought that d’Artagnan’s appearance had something to do with it. The young man could reach Athos in a way Aramis and he never could. But with Athos being poisoned the horrible nightmares had returned again.

 

“Then rest!” He advised his friend.

“I can’t rest, if I don’t know what’s wrong with d’Artagnan.” Athos stubbornly said.

 

_ Aramis where are you, when I need you? What shall I tell Athos? _

_ He’s definitely not well. Is it the poison making him so emotional and talkative? _

_ Is his wound infected? His forehead is pretty warm. _

_ If I tell Athos now, he will blame himself again. He is not well enough to know. _

_ But I can’t lie to him either. He’ll know. I need a trick. I need to tell him that it was my fault. I need to distract him. _

 

“What is it that you won’t tell me?” Athos asked, searching Porthos’ eyes for any hint.

“As we arrested Maurice there was an … incident.” Porthos slowly began.

“What kind of incident?” Concerned green eyes met dark brown eyes filled with sadness.

“I wasn’t aware that Maurice had still a knife with him. I hadn’t checked him properly.”

 

         Porthos looked away. Athos could hear and feel the guilt in his brother’s voice.

 

“What happened?” He softly asked.

“He tried to escape … and …”

 

_ It seems to work. He’s now focused on me.  _ Porthos thought.

 

“And what, Porthos …?”

“He cut d’Artagnan on his hip.” Porthos tried to blink his own tears away now. “I should have checked, I …” Porthos paused and gulped hard.

“Porthos, it’s not your fault.” Athos pressed his friend’s knee.

 

_ Good he is not blaming himself right now. Yes, Athos concentrate on me. Besides your words are honey on my soul. I really should have checked for a knife, but everything happened so fast ... _

 

“How bad is it?” Athos now tenderly asked.

“Aramis checked him immediately. A long cut, but not deep, not like your wound, but it still needs stitches. He says he will be alright.” Porthos huffed.

“So stop blaming yourself, Porthos. Please.” Athos softly said, then he added. “I need to see him. He was there for me when I was knifed, he helped me through the stitching, I need to comfort him.”

“Athos, you’re still very weak. You should rest.” Porthos tried again, now with more concern in his voice.  

“I can’t rest, when I know that my little brother is in pain. Take me to him, please.” Athos begged him looking into his friend’s deep brown eyes filled with sorrow, suddenly realising that Porthos was afraid too that their youngest could die.

“If Aramis says he will be fine again, then he will be fine again, Porthos!” Athos emphasised, while searching for Porthos’ warm hand and pressing it shortly.

“Please, Porthos, I can go on my own, but it would be easier, if you help me.” Athos explained.

 

_ No, I can’t go on my own. I need Porthos’ help and he is no fool, he knows it. _

 

         Porthos softly nodded as an idea crossed his mind. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to give Athos something to do, to distract him from what had happened in the past days.

 

“Alright, I’ll take you to him, but don’t overstrain yourself.” Porthos warned him. “If you feel dizzy or uncomfortable, you need to tell me and lie down! Promise me, Athos.” He ordered.

“I promise you that I’ll take care of myself, too, Porthos! Now will you help me?” Athos asked impatiently.

 

         Porthos nodded, then he helped his brother, wrapped him in a blanket, earning a glare, because Athos didn’t want to be coddled at this moment, and together they made it to d’Artagnan’s room. Athos was glad that he hadn’t to descend the stairs again. Porthos was right, he was still very groggy and weak. His emotional state hadn’t helped him to get any better and he felt hungry again, but it had to wait, d’Artagnan needed him more right now and he needed to make sure that he was alright.   

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Rochefort looked out of the window. He spotted the Musketeer Henri jumping from his horse and calling out loud, asking around for the whereabouts of Doctor Lemay. Some pages showed him the way.

 

_ Oh they are calling for the doctor again. Perhaps my plan has finally worked. The Musketeers have found Maurice Coulon, but he died as they arrested them. I need to find out … _

 

         Rochefort left his room and hurried down the corridor to the office of Doctor Lemay. He could hear the running boots of Henri echoing over the stone floor. The middle aged Musketeer reached Lemay’s office a bit sooner than him. Urgently, he knocked at the door. He heard a short answer and he opened it, only to close it again behind him at once. Rochefort cursed inwardly now he couldn’t hear what they were talking about.

 

“Henri, what is it?” Lemay asked inside his office. He had stood up from his wooden chair as the Musketeer had entered. “Is Athos worse again? Is his wound infected?” He asked with a concerned voice looking already for his medical bag.

“Er … I don’t know, you have to ask Captain Tréville.” Henri said nervously.

“Why are you looking for me?” Lemay asked curiously.

“Captain Tréville has sent me! We have arrested the man who attacked Athos and started the  fire at the garrison, but he collapsed in our courtyard and died. Captain Tréville thinks that he died of poison too.” Henri explained.

“So, I shall confirm, if it is poison?” Lemay asked, stopping and turning his head to one of his shelves to look for a book.

“Yes, doctor!” Henri nodded with his head. “Can you please come immediately.

“Hmm … ah … here it is!” Lemay reached for a book. “I’d  better take this with me.” He said with a warm smile in Henri’s direction.

“What is it?” Henri wanted to know.

“This is a book about poisonous plants and the symptoms they can have on our body. I guess I will need it to decide if this man was poisoned.” Lemay put it in his bag. “And Athos is really better?” He cautiously asked.

“Tréville said that if you come it would be good if you could check him over again.”

“I thought he would want that.”

“And …”

“And d’Artagnan too.”

“What happened to the young man?” He exclaimed.

“As they arrested Coulon, that’s the dead man in our courtyard, Coulon hit d’Artagnan with a blade. Aramis is stitching his wound right now.”

“Is the wound deep?” Lemay wanted to know.

“I’m not sure, but he was in pain.” Henri told Lemay. “So it’s best if I take some salves with me.” Lemay decided out loud.

“Better hurry, Doctor!” Henri pushed the doctor.

“Alright, I am ready.”

 

         Rochefort could hear footsteps coming. He had tried to listen to see if he could hear anything, but the wooden door was too thick and neither Henri nor Lemay had loud voices. Now he hurried back himself.

 

_ I need to send one of my Red Guards to find out what is going on. If I ask, it will be too suspicious right now. I must be careful. Tréville is a fox. I shouldn’t underestimate him. I need to find another way to get rid of him. If he looks incompetent in front of the King, maybe he will lose his post as Captain of the Musketeers. I have to be patient. I will find a way.  _

 

         Rochefort retreated. As he heard footsteps approaching the corridor he hid himself in a dark corner. He could hear the footsteps of a woman approaching Lemay’s office, as the doctor left his office with Henri.

 

“Doctor!” The woman called him. “Are you leaving the palace?”

“Yes, I have to go to the garrison. The Captain of the Musketeers has asked for my help.”

“Is Athos any better?” The woman asked concerned.

“I will soon find out. I will check on him and another Musketeer.” Lemay smiled at the woman.

“Another Musketeer who was hurt by the fire?” The woman asked.

“No, it’s d’Artagnan. He was hurt by a blade.” Henri explained and urged the doctor to hurry.

The woman gasped out loud.

“Is he severely hurt?” She asked with an anxious voice.

“Constance, I don’t know right now. I have to examine him first, but from what Henri has told me, he was only injured slightly. I really have to go.” Lemay bowed slightly and hurried away.

 

         Constance tried to hide her tears.

 

_ Please d’Artagnan don’t be hurt severely.  _ She sighed.

 

         As Henri and Lemay had left she couldn’t hide her tears any longer. Sadly she hurried back to her room to calm herself. She had totally forgotten why she wanted to talk to Lemay. Rochefort left his hiding place.

_ D’Artagnan was hurt by a blade. But they haven’t said anything about Coulon. Maybe he is still on the run. I need to be patient. And the doctor has to check on Athos, maybe I’m lucky and his wound is infected. With his still weakened body, he will not survive an infection. Ha … ha … ha … _

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	70. We are all proud of you.

⚔⚔

 

“Why?” D’Artagnan groaned.

“Just stay calm. Shall I repeat? Shut your mouth, your eyes and …”

 

        D’Artagnan closed his eyes, preparing himself for what was coming. Aramis paused when he saw the door slowly opening, revealing a pale Athos leaning heavily on Porthos. Aramis lifted his finger to his lips urging them to be silent.

 

“Aramis?”

“And your ears.” Aramis answered.

 

        D’Artagnan lifted his arms and crossed them over his face, blocking the light and the sounds and gripping his elbows tightly, his fingernails bruising the skin.

 

“Here, three more stitches and it’s done.”

 

        D’Artagnan couldn’t stifle his cry when the needle pierced again.

 

“The skin is very sensitive and fragile here, besides, it’s very near the side and the belly so he reacts even more to the pain.”

“Mmmh … who …. Aramis … who are you … talking to?” D’Artagnan mumbled removing his arms from his eyes.

“Aramis!” A familiar rumbling voice chided from the doorway. “Is this your idea of discretion?” Athos murmured dragging his feet towards the bed.

 

        D’Artagnan’s eyes snapped open.

 

“No … Please, I don’t want …”

“To see me! Thank you d’Artagnan.” Athos finished in his usual deadpan tone, sitting down with Porthos’ help, on the edge of the bed, next to the young man’s head.

 

        Athos stifled a whimper as the movement jarred his wound. Porthos glared at him worryingly.

 

“No … it’s not that …” D’Artagnan cried. “Mgghhh … Aramis, are you finished?”

 

        Athos’ hand immediately found the young man’s head, stroking softly the sweaty hair, while, with his other hand he reached for the young man’s tense fingers.

 

“Squeeze as hard as you can, it helps to lessen the pain. Trust me I have had enough experience lately.” Athos instructed d’Artagnan.

“Aramis is a brute, isn’t he?” Porthos laughed. “But he is particularly tender with you. He isn’t that gentle with me.”

“To hell with gentleness, I want it over!” D’Artagnan snarled and he moaned again when Aramis’ thread passed a last time through his skin.

 

        Athos could feel d’Artagnan’s firm grip around his fingers. As soon as Aramis finished, d’Artagnan let go of it again.

 

“Now, all done. I just need to knot it tightly. What do you think Porthos, good work, isn’t it? Very … presentable.”

 

        Athos smirked but his hand didn’t stop his movement.

 

“Mmh … Aramis … I’m a human being not … a cushion.” D’Artagnan grimaced, not knowing if he would laugh or cry.

“Women love a beautiful embroidery on their … favourite cushion.” Aramis replied with a wink.

“Aramis, I think you are lucky that the boy can’t strangle you right now. D’Artagnan, do you want me to do it for you?” Porthos exclaimed.

“Don’t make me laugh … Porthos.” D’Artagnan hissed between his teeth as Aramis applied one of his particularly smelly salves.

“Welcome to my world.” Athos smiled. “A world full of honey, garlic and rosewater.”

 

        Silence stretched into the room when d’Artagnan’s face suddenly fell and his lips pursed. Athos raised his head to look at Aramis questioningly and Porthos crouched on the floor to be at eyes level with them all.

 

“What is it, d’Artagnan?” Athos softly asked, his voice like gravel.

“Nothing. I’m just tired. You can go. I’ll sleep now.”

“And this frown on your forehead means?” Porthos gently smiled.

“Just go back to your rooms. Thank you for your help.”

 

        He knew that a silent conversation was taking place above his head, made of nods, frowns and silent words.

 

“I will stay.” Athos whispered quietly but firmly.

“Athos, it’s not …” Porthos tried.

“Athos … no … I am … fine.”

“Repeat that, young man!” Athos smiled. “ _I_ am fine, now, but you are not. You can’t refuse my help when I welcomed and accepted yours.”

“Athos, he is right, you are in no condition to stay on a chair the whole night.” Porthos chided.

“Porthos, I will stay.” Athos repeated with a stubborn look.

 

        D’Artagnan closed his eyes defeated.

 

“Alright, but lie down please … Don’t stay like that … the whole night.”

 

    Aramis and Porthos exchanged a fond smile as d’Artagnan, grimacing, shuffled a little on the bed to leave more room for his friend who settled carefully onto the narrow mattress.

 

“Aren’t they adorable?” Porthos chuckled.

“Porthos, shut up.” D’Artagnan growled.

“Athos, let me examine you first. You are not well.” Aramis protested.

“I am!”     

“And how can you explain why your hands are trembling, why there is sweat on your forehead and why your face displays such an interesting palette of grimaces!?” Aramis asked.

 

        Athos threw him a look under his eyelashes which could have killed him, but Aramis just smiled gently and approached the bed. Athos tried to sit up, and he was midway through the process when Aramis barked.

 

“Lie down, you stubborn mule.”

 

        The soft rattle of the door made them jump. Tréville’s head appeared.

 

“Ah, Captain, it’s good to see you here. I will need your help.” Porthos said standing up.

“Our pigheaded brother here needs a bed. He has decided to try each room of this garrison.”

“How are they?” Tréville asked surprised looking at his injured men.   

 

        What he saw didn’t please him. Two of his best soldiers were lying as white as their sheets and were sweating from pain and exhaustion. They had dark rings under their hollow eyes but they were still struggling to keep a brave face. It made him proud, moved and angry at the same time.

 

“I have sent for Lemay, I need him to confirm that Coulon died of poisoning and when he arrives he can check on you two.” He ordered firmly.      

“Captain, I have found two letters in Coulon’s house. Perhaps it can help to … to …” D’Artagnan paused, not sure if he should discuss this in front of Athos.

“To convict Rochefort.” Athos helped, feeling d’Artagnan trembling next to him. “What were the letters about?” The swordsman asked softly, trying to ignore the pain in his body.

 

        He knew what d’Artagnan was trying to say and he didn’t want to be spared anymore. He needed to know.

 

“It was a note …” D’Artagnan gulped, tears were welling up in his eyes. He didn’t want to remind his brother of Rochefort.

“Yes, something about the Red Guards. What was the correct wording, d’Artagnan? I have forgotten.” Aramis helped and encouraged their youngest to move on.

 _“The Captain of the Red Guards is happy to welcome you into the ranks of his prestigious regiment._ You will find it in my saddlebag along with the other note, but there was no mark, no signature.” D’Artagnan said barely audibly.

_I shouldn’t have started with the letters in front of Athos. Oh this stupid injury. It makes me weak, I can’t concentrate, I can’t think clearly enough. I only wanted to report to the Captain, what we’d found._

“That’s all?” Tréville asked curiously.

“No, there was a second note.”

“What did it say?” Tréville asked.

“O … only one sentence.” D’Artagnan looked to Aramis and he nodded, a sign that he should continue.

 

_“The past is never where you think you left it.”_

 

        Athos tried to suppress a groan, but he failed and hissed loudly. He felt his heart palpitating faster in his chest. Angrily, he closed his eyes as images of that fateful day six years ago flooded back into his mind. He felt Aramis’ hand pressing his shoulder. Agitated, he shook his head.

 

“What do these letters mean?” Porthos asked, noticing Athos’ reaction.

“Probably a message to Coulon that he is more than welcome to join the Red Guards again, after he has killed me.” Athos answered between his gritted teeth.

 

        He felt the pain in his back now pulsing heavier than before and he was grateful that he was lying next to d’Artagnan. Even if it was only a small space he had on the mattress, it helped him to settle his nerves again, while he fought against the dizziness which was swirling through his head.

 

_Since when have I been so much in need of physical contact? This poison changed me … I can’t bear to be alone and I feel that I need my friends more than ever … I must concentrate on what they are saying._

 

“But what about the second message? This riddle?” Tréville asked.

“Perhaps Coulon tried to blackmail Rochefort. This note without a signature about the Red Guard sounds ... like Coulon wanted badly to have his former post back. No wonder ..., without a job, no money, a post at the Red Guards would have given him back money and a life.” Athos breathed in deeply then he continued still out of breath. “After he had helped ... to whip me ... all those years back without a reason ... he couldn’t stay in the Red Guards.” Athos explained tiredly.

 

        His logical thinking helped him to calm his nerves.

 

“So you mean that the riddle was a message to Coulon that he shouldn’t underestimate him?” Aramis asked softly, while he was still resting his hand on Athos’ shoulder.

 

        The Lieutenant closed his eyes to fight his own emotions.

 

“This message sounds like this insane Rochefort. He didn’t only poison Coulon to finally get rid of him, because he failed to kill me, ... but he had to let him know ... why.” Athos explained.

“Of course I am only guessing.” Athos added weakly.

“It sounds plausible enough for me!” Tréville stated firmly, smiling at Athos. “Alas those letters won’t help us to prove that Rochefort has poisoned Coulon and the others.” He angrily stated. “Did you find anything else in Coulon’s home?” Tréville asked.

“No!” D’Artagnan shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the pain in his hip and suddenly he felt so tired.

 

        Athos laid a calming hand on his wrist and the young man sent him a grateful look.

 

“We have to check his clothes. If Coulon has blackmailed Rochefort he must have something with him, maybe in his boots.” Aramis said.

“We will do this as soon as possible but first things first. How are you?” Tréville looked at  both his men lying on the same mattress.

“Look at this young warrior, at both of them, according to them, they are _fine_.” Porthos laughed but his laughter died as he saw Athos trembling more and more. “Wait for us, we will be right back, come Captain.”

“On your orders, Porthos!” The Captain laughed quietly.

“I don’t plan to leave, Porthos.” Athos smiled, but this smile was soon erased as he felt a stabbing pain in his back. He nearly doubled over.

“Athos!” D’Artagnan whispered. “What is it?”

 

        Athos tried to manage a reassuring smile but he failed, so he just shook his head and squeezed the young man’s shoulder. Porthos and Tréville stopped, they looked worried.

 

“Go, I am fine.”

 

        As soon as the men left, Aramis stood up, and approached the bed menacingly.

 

“Now, that’s enough! Fine! You said fine! May I add a few words to your vocabulary, my dear _Comte_? And you, young man, that goes for you too.”

 

        He took Athos by the shoulders, pressed him back onto d’Artagnan’s mattress and forced him to roll onto his side and show him his back. Then he lifted his shirt to reveal the bandage which he untied to examine the wound.

 

“Now listen to me. Here are the words: inflamed, hot, bruised.”

 

        He rearranged the bandage after having spread a layer of smelly poultice on the wound. Then he helped a very silent and stunned Athos to settle more comfortably on the narrow bed.

 

“Does this mean my wound is infected?” Athos asked barely audible with a lump in his throat.

“No, this does mean that your last surgery was less than twelve hours ago and you belong in a bed not on a wooden chair, so you stay on this bed!” Aramis rebuked him with a strong glare.

 

        D’Artagnan was looking at the whole procedure with wide eyes and the beginning of a smile on his lips. Aramis put a hand on Athos’ forehead, then he checked his pupils.

 

“More words: tired, feverish, exhausted, sore and from the look on your face and your last question, highly anxious. Oh, how strange, I didn’t find the word _fine_!” He finished, his lips pursed in a thin line, his eyebrows almost touching in his deep frown.

 

        When he saw the stunned and slightly amused looks on the two faces facing him, he paused in his excited speech.

 

“What?”

“Are you finished Aramis?” Athos gently smiled, unimpressed by his friend’s outburst. “It was quite a show!”

 

        Aramis sat down heavily on the chair and ran a hand through his shaggy hair, scratching his nape nervously.

 

“I am sorry.” He mumbled noticing Athos’ still pale complexion. “But, why don’t you admit it when you suffer, when you need help? You are definitely too stubborn, both of you!” He finished pointing his forefinger like a severe teacher. “I am too young to grow grey hair and your stubbornness is causing me a headache!”

“Thank you, Aramis.” Athos whispered. “And ... sorry.” He added gently.

“Sorry.” D’Artagnan repeated sheepishly, his eyelids heavy.

 

        Aramis smiled fondly, shaking his head. At that moment, Porthos and Tréville entered carrying, with great difficulty and a lot of noise, a heavy bed camp. Athos stood up gingerly and shakily, to allow room and for them to settle it beside d’Artagnan’s bed, with just a low stool between them where they could put a jug of water and two cups. Aramis stepped next to Athos and softly supported his back with his palm. As Athos was about to lie down again, Porthos reached for him, shaking his head negatively.

 

“No, Athos, I will help you.” Porthos growled dangerously.

 

        Athos breathed out a meaningful sigh but waited patiently for Porthos’ help. The latter helped him to sit down first, removed his boots without taking his eyes off Athos, trying to decipher the smallest sign of discomfort. Then he gently lifted his friend’s legs as Athos tried to find a comfortable position turning onto his side to face his younger brother and wincing when he felt his wound stretching painfully.

        Porthos put a pillow behind his back, and covered him with his blanket, softly brushing his friend’s cheek with the back of his hand. He could feel that Athos was still shivering and he wrapped him in a second blanket. That Athos accepted his help without a loud protest, or pulling back, worried the strong man. As Porthos straightened to join Tréville near the door, Aramis was calmer, packing his needle, thread, clothes and other vials. Porthos and Tréville looked down worriedly at their wounded friends. At last, Aramis sat down again and addressed d’Artagnan with a very serious expression in his dark chocolate eyes.

 

“D’Artagnan, what was troubling you a moment ago?” Aramis asked very seriously.

 

        Athos turned his head towards him, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

 

“Maurice, he was poisoned?” D’Artagnan muttered.

“Er … yes …”

“Thank you. Now you can leave us, thank you again Aramis, Porthos, Captain.”

 

        D’Artagnan’s tone was neutral, almost sad.

 

 _Maybe the exhaustion,_ Aramis thought looking at him surprised.

 

        Porthos rearranged Athos’ blanket and frowning he pushed a reluctant Aramis towards the door. With one last look to the others, they wished them a goodnight. When the door closed, Athos settled more comfortably on the bed then he asked quietly.

 

“What troubles you?”

 

        D’Artagnan looked at the wall hiding his face from his friend. Athos rearranged the blanket on his friend’s body, careful to respect his friend’s modesty and not to touch the wound, then he laid a hand in the crook of his elbow.

 

“What troubles you?” He repeated.

 

        The young man turned his head staring at the ceiling, blinking, his breathing fast.

 

“Coulon, he was poisoned. But how? He had a cut on his palm …”

“I don’t know, d’Artagnan.” Athos admitted.

 

        Suddenly he gasped. D’Artagnan looked at him, his eyes wide, full of fear and tears.

 

“No, d’Artagnan, please, don’t have thoughts like that.” Athos exclaimed, tightening his grip.

“So you consider it too?”

“No, I don’t!” Athos shouted, and in a softer tone, he added. “No, I’m sure you weren’t poisoned.”

 

        D’Artagnan nodded, not convinced, but a little reassured. Athos reached out a hand and laid it on his forehead.

 

“No fever … look at me … Your pupils are normal considering the dim light  … and your speech isn’t more crazy than usual … and I’m not a figment of your imagination, I’m actually here, and you will have to deal with that.” Athos smiled gently. “Now, sleep, I will stay with you.”    

 

        D’Artagnan moved a little further until his face was as close as possible to Athos’, his cheek on the rough wood of the bed frame.

 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to be worried about me.” D’Artagnan whispered.

“Is that why you were hiding under the balcony? You know, it worried me even more.”

“And I was …”

“You were …”

“Ashamed.” D’Artagnan closed his eyes as he uttered this word.

 

        Athos stiffened.

 

“Ashamed?!” He exclaimed. “Ashamed of what? Now, I am really worried. Are you insane?”

“I slowed down the mission.” D’Artagnan answered in a very low voice, opening his sad eyes.

“Nonsense.”

“If I had been more careful, I wouldn’t have been hurt!”

“It doesn’t change anything!” Athos calmed him as d’Artagnan tried to straighten bracing himself on his hands. “Stop that!”

“But …”

“But what?” Now Athos couldn’t hide the anger in his voice. “You did nothing wrong, you didn’t compromise the mission.”

 

        D’Artagnan stayed silent a moment sliding again down the mattress, his head on the pillow, mulling over his dark ideas.

 

“I did.”

“You …”

“If I hadn’t been hurt, Coulon wouldn’t have died before confessing the name of his employer to Tréville. I failed you all.”

“You can’t say that!” Athos assured, gripping his hand. “You didn’t fail us, you never fail me. You can’t know for sure that he wouldn’t have died before confessing, even without you being hurt. Now, stop this nonsense and sleep.” Then he added in a more gentle tone. “Believe me, we are all proud of you, now you just have to be proud of yourself … Sleep little brother.”

 

        D’Artagnan nodded, closed his eyes and then after a long silence, he added.

 

“It’s funny.”

 

        Athos startled as his mind had already begun to wander.

 

“What?” Athos mumbled.

“If someone looks for us …”

“Yes?”

“You are in my room, I am sure Porthos is in Aramis’ room and will share a few glasses with him until late into the night … It’s funny.”

 

        With these words, he closed his eyes and soon, Athos could hear his soft breathing which could have lulled him into a deep sleep if he hadn’t desperately clung to consciousness in order to flee the ghosts invading his dreams.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	71. Will I die?

⚔⚔

 

**_On the balcony_ **

 

         Aramis ruffled his brown hair with resentment and worry as he approached his Captain and Porthos.

 

“How are they?” Tréville asked his medic.

 

         Aramis didn’t answer at once but let a loud sigh escape his lips.

 

“That bad?” Porthos asked anxiously. “Perhaps we should stay with them.” He already wanted to leave and return to d’Artagnan’s room but Aramis gripped his arm.

“Wait, we need to talk.” He  said softly.

“Here?” Tréville asked.

“Perhaps it’s better if we discuss this in your office.” Aramis decided.    

 

         Tréville nodded slightly before they went back into his office. While Porthos and Tréville sat down at Tréville’s desk, Aramis paused at Athos’ sickbed and checked the sheets.

 

“Do you think Athos is right, that Maurice tried to blackmail Rochefort, Captain?” Porthos asked stretching his still aching leg.

 “Yes, I think he is right. After you left I checked the clothes of Coulon and found this.” Tréville answered, while reaching for a small note, he passed over to Porthos.

 

         Eagerly Porthos started to read:

 

 _“I, Géraud Besant, solicitor in Paris, hereby certify that the bearer of this letter, Maurice Coulon, came to me as the witness of an incident which occurred five years ago in Touraine, regarding a certain Comte de Rochefort and a Musketeer known as Athos. Every details of said incident are recorded in my office._ ”

 

         Porthos paused and whistled.

 

“This could be the evidence we needed to accuse Rochefort. We need to find this Monsieur Besant, then he can testify against Rochefort.” Porthos shouted excitedly.

“Alas, this note doesn’t help us. We all know what happened all these years ago and Cardinal Richelieu has covered all his tracks. I could do nothing for Athos back then and the King won’t listen to me he could even laugh at me. He will probably think that I’m envious because Rochefort has a greater influence than me at the palace right now.”

“Ohhhrrrr …” Porthos angrily exclaimed. “I’ve had enough of this. Why can’t we simply go to the King and accuse Rochefort? He has to be punished for his deeds.”

“My hands are tied Porthos. I can’t … if I do what you propose right now … it will demean our regiment and I will lose my post as a Captain. Although I wouldn’t really care about that, if it gave Athos justice.”

“You doubt that the King will believe you?” Porthos asked.

“I made one huge mistake, I declined the offer to join his Majesty’s court. Now, Louis doesn’t trust me any longer. He doesn’t listen to my council. He is acting like a six year old boy, whose mother has taken away his favourite toy.” Tréville sighed.

 

         His sad eyes smiled at Porthos.

 

“Believe me, Porthos, I would give up my post as commanding officer at once, if it brought  Athos justice and safety, but right now this can’t happen. It would bring more chaos to the Court. I have vowed to serve my King and France. We all have done that. Now we have to keep calm, watch what Rochefort is going to plan next and protect our King and Queen. I cannot do this, if I lose my post and the King will probably decide to dissolve the regiment of the Musketeers.” Tréville shook his head slightly.

 

         Porthos could hear the earnest passion in which his Captain told him his thoughts and he knew that his commanding officer was right. Besides he knew that Tréville would give his own life if he could spare Athos more pain, torture or suffering. Even if he had his resentment  with his Captain right now, he valued his commanding officer, caring for his men, for all of them.

 

_Perhaps that’s why he isn’t telling me anything about my father. He fears to hurt me, but I am stronger than he thinks._

 

         Porthos wiped his thoughts away. They had come here to talk about Athos’ well-being not about his personal issues. They had to wait. He could wait.

 

“Is that why you haven’t said anything about the letter in front of Athos?” Porthos cautiously asked.   

“You have seen Athos earlier, he looks bad, really bad. I want to know what’s wrong with him. Aramis stop staring into space! Come over here and tell us, what’s wrong with Athos!”

 

         Tréville shouted in a rough tone. Then he turned his head back to Porthos.

 

“You have seen d’Artagnan hesitating to tell Athos about the two notes. Our young Gascon knows our dear Comte very well. As he hesitated in speaking of the content of the letters, I knew that Athos was still not ready to hear about the last one. You saw his reaction to the second message. He became worse.” Tréville sadly resumed. “Aramis, we need to talk, tell us, what’s wrong.” He shouted again.

 

         Aramis was still standing in front of Tréville’s bed. His eyes critically scanned another soaked shirt, a wet pillow and some wetness at one side of the crumpled sheets, in the background he could hear Tréville and Porthos talking about the letter.

 

_Is your fever back, Athos? Has infection set in? What is it with you, my friend? I didn’t see any signs, but you looked horrible. I shouldn’t have mocked you earlier, I was angry about you using the word “fine” again, but you simply wanted to comfort d’Artagnan. He shouldn’t worry about you, that’s why you used “fine”. I made you anxious with naming all those symptoms, I can sometimes, be such an idiot. The Captain told me that you haven’t been well. I’ll have to ask Tréville and Porthos how you were. In the courtyard this morning you were better, and now …_

 

         Angrily, Aramis grabbed Athos’ soaked shirt and threw it onto the bed, then, he finally followed his Captain’s orders to join him and Porthos at the desk. Both men looked more than worried at their medic.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Athos tiredly stared at the ceiling of d’Artagnan’s room. Next to him, d’Artagnan was breathing softly and from time to time he whimpered in his sleep. Athos shifted on his mattress ignoring the pain in his back, until he could reach d’Artagnan’s hand, which hung over the bed frame. He grabbed it and pressed it softly. D’Artagnan stopped his moaning and sank back into a deeper sleep. Athos couldn’t let go of the warm hand of his young _protégé_. He needed to make sure that the boy was fine. Maurice had not only knifed him, but his young protégé too had been hurt by this crazy man.

 

 _This would have never happened_ _if…_

 

         Athos’ was driven out of his thoughts as another jolt ran through his whole body. He started to shiver under both blankets and he suppressed a loud moan in order not to wake his young friend. He could feel his heart throbbing in his chest.

 

_Thud, thud, thud ..._

 

         The loud sound made him anxious.

 

_What has Aramis told me about my symptoms? You are tired, feverish, exhausted, highly anxious._

 

         He could still hear Aramis’ angry voice screaming in his ears.

 

_You have forgotten to add rapid heartbeat, feeling dizzy, dry throat and breathing difficulties._

 

         Athos sighed loudly. He opened his mouth wide to breathe in more oxygen, but it didn’t seem to work.

 

_Why is my body betraying me like this? Am I going to die like Maurice? He clutched at his chest to stop the pain ... just like me now ..._

 

         Athos noticed that he had pressed the palm of his other hand onto his chest over his pulsing heart. Tiredly, he rolled into a foetal position. His head turned towards d’Artagnan, but he had his eyes closed. He felt that he could breathe more evenly and he stayed in this position until the tightness in his chest subsided. He didn’t dare to moan, but he felt horrible.

 

_Aramis where are you? I need you right now. Tell me that I will be fine again, I need to hear it. God, I am so tired, why can’t I find sleep, why am I afraid to sleep, why am I so emotional?_

 

         He cried silent tears hoping that sleep would finally pull him under.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“How are they?” Tréville repeated his question impatiently.

 

         Aramis looked up concerned. He ran his hand through his hair, then he seated himself on a chair, before he started to explain with a tense voice.

 

“D’Artagnan will be fine, except that he fears that he was poisoned too, but I doubt that. If I have to guess I would say that Rochefort had poisoned Coulon with another toxic substance on a knife, but that wasn’t the blade he used on d’Artagnan. So, if infection doesn’t settle in the wound which I cleaned like I did for Athos, he will be up and around in no time.” Aramis explained.

“And Athos?” Tréville asked. “What are you not telling us?” He urged his medic.

“Is his wound infected?” Porthos asked worriedly.

“I haven’t seen any signs of infection. It is inflamed and sore but that is normal, I stitched him about twelve hours ago.” Aramis slowly responded.

“So what is it then? Why is concern written all over your face, Aramis?” Tréville asked impatiently in a loud tone.  

“I don’t know yet. Can you tell me how Athos was earlier? I mean after I left him this morning in the courtyard he seemed to be alright, then he had that horrible look on his face as d’Artagnan brought him back and after that I had the feeling that he’d spiraled downward.” Aramis paused.

“He had a panic attack after I’ve told him about Maurice Coulon this morning. I told you earlier, I admit that I shouldn’t have told him, I knew that he was still very weak, his heart was beating again much too quickly and he had trouble breathing, but I was able to calm him.” Tréville summarised. “He even managed to follow me to the balcony and into the courtyard.”

 

         Tréville angrily shook his head.

 

“I told him to stay, to rest, to sleep, but he told me that he was afraid of having another nightmare. He recalled the day he walked into Rochefort’s trap, seeing Coulon’s face made him remember being whipped.” He added quietly.

“It wasn’t such a good idea for Athos to come down into the courtyard!” Porthos quietly said. “He nearly collapsed in my arms and after I’d brought him back here, he was completely emotional, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“How?” Aramis asked. “I mean how did he react?”

 

         Porthos sighed loud.

 

“He was really upset that Coulon died, he thinks that Rochefort has won and that now he and people around him aren’t safe anymore. That’s not like him.” Porthos added.

“Anything else?”   

“He cried, he sobbed in my arms.” Porthos admitted hesitantly with a shiver.

 

         He was still shaken up by the picture he could see in front of his eyes, he remembered holding his brother in one of his famous bear hugs, while he was clasping his neck.

 

“I’ve never seen him like that before.” He repeated himself, still shaken by Athos’ behaviour. “Nevertheless, he had recognised that something was wrong with d’Artagnan. He urged me to go with him and comfort him, he wanted to go himself, but to be honest without my help he wouldn’t have made it to the next room.” Porthos  added sadly.

“Damn!” Tréville slammed his fist on his desk and regretted it instantly as he felt the pain radiating from his knuckles. “What is wrong with him?” He asked anxiously.

 

         Aramis stood up and walked nervously through the room.

 

“I’ll ask Lemay. You said you sent for him?”

“Yes, I have sent Henri.”

“Good.” He whispered before pausing, then he added, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “I think that Athos’ soul is finally catching up. In the past days his body was fighting for him to survive. Now as his body gets stronger, he’s beginning to think about what has happened to him. I experienced it myself after Savoy.” Aramis added quietly. “It is a horrible feeling and I think I made it even worse.” With these words Aramis rushed to the door and left in a hurry.

 

         He couldn’t see the worried glances which Tréville and Porthos shared as he ran to d’Artagnan’s room and they couldn’t see the moisture blurring his eyes.

 

_God damn I am a fool. Athos needs me right now, why couldn’t I see it. I was too busy with sewing d’Artagnan and all I could do was chiding him, instead of checking him properly._

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Athos desperately closed his eyes. His mouth was still wide open and he drew in more and more air, he felt lightheaded. He wished that sleep would finally come. Behind his eyelids, he could see Ana-Josefa, smiling shyly at him. He could hear her crystal-clear laughter with other court-ladies about a joke Aramis had made at his expense. Athos tried to imagine her face, her hair, her soft voice, but he couldn’t, everything was gone, vanished out of his mind. He tried to remember, but all he could see were dead blue eyes, wide open in horror, staring at him and screaming: _Where were you? Why did you lave me alone? Why didn’t you help me?_ Athos forced his eyes open and caught his breath. Sweat was running over his face and he pressed his hand against his palpitating heart.

 

“Breathe in, breathe out, slowly. You can do this, calm, easy. In and out, in and out. Breathe with me! You know how it works.”

 

         Athos groggily listened to the slightly hoarse voice. He followed the instructions and he noticed how the tense pain in the middle of his chest vanished again. He felt a hand on his shoulder, he wanted to lie flat down on his back but the voice and a soft grip stopped him.

 

“I think it’s better if you stay in this position for a while. You can breathe easier and that’s important for you right now.”

 

         Athos nodded gratefully and continued the breathing exercise.

 

“I’m sorry!” He softly mumbled between two breaths.

“What for? Can’t a friend comfort you in your pain?”

“You should rest, d’Artagnan.” Athos opened his teary eyes wider and looked sluggishly at his younger brother.

“I am much better. My hip will heal. There’s no sign of poisoning yet. It’s you I’m worried about right now, Athos!”

 

         D’Artagnan was sitting on his bed, his bare feet on the cold tiles, but he didn’t care. He wished he could bring the two beds closer, but he didn’t have enough strength for that or to sit on the stool at the head of the camp bed. He had woken several minutes earlier hearing Athos mumbling a name over and over again, and then breathing irregularly and panting for air. He felt a dull pain in his side nothing more, so he had decided to check on his brother who was obviously in very bad shape.

 

_Shall I fetch the others? Athos looks horrible and he is in intense pain. I hope his wound isn’t infected._

 

“Athos, what is it?” He softly asked his mentor, pressing his shoulder.

“I don’t know d’Artagnan. I honestly don’t know.”

“Where does it hurt you?”

“Everywhere.” Athos huffed, panting for air.

 

 _How shall I describe you my pain, d’Artagnan … You’ve been hurt too. I shouldn’t_ _moan. He was injured because of me, because he wanted to help me. All my brothers have now been injured, Aramis was knocked out, Porthos was burned and now d’Artagnan …_

 

“How are you? Your hip? Are you in much pain?”Athos whispered, but he was shaken by a fit that made him bend over and intensified the pain in his back.

 

         D’Artagnan softly stroked his back, ignoring the fact that the movement stretched his own wound.

 

“Easy, Athos, easy! Breathe in and out, slowly, and stop talking for a while. I am here. Calm. That’s it.”

 

         Athos nodded groggily and followed d’Artagnan’s instructions. More shivers went through his spine, but d’Artagnan’s calming Gascon words, which he started to whisper in his ear bending awkwardly over the edge of his bed, helped him to relax again. Exhausted he closed his eyes and fell into his desired sleep. D’Artagnan stared confused at his older brother.

 

 _You_ _were_ _better this morning. What has happened to you? You are obviously in a lot of pain._

 

         He let his hand rest on Athos’ back to stabilise him so that he wouldn’t roll onto it and could breathe easier, his thumb unconsciously moving back and forth on the wet shirt. He watched his sleeping brother. His breathing was even again, his face looked sweaty, swollen and pale, reddish around his eyes, and he had obviously cried.

 

         As Athos started to moan again in his sleep d’Artagnan decided to lie down in his own bed on his injured side, with soft pillows he arranged under his hip. He winced and caught his lower lip between his teeth at the burning sensation when the wound made contact with the pillow, but he ignored his own pain and grabbed Athos’ hand, which was dangling over the corner of the small bed in which he was lying. He pulled his own blanket over himself. He couldn’t lie next to Athos, because it would have stressed his injured side even more. He felt that he wouldn’t have enough strength for that and anyway, the camp bed was much too narrow for the two of them, the mere thought made him chuckle silently, but at least he could comfort Athos by being next to him, by not letting go of his clammy hand. He softly painted circles with his thumb on Athos’ hand, to let him know that he wasn’t alone. Face to face he watched his mentor’s sleeping form. Athos stopped shivering and d’Artagnan let escape a loud sigh.

 

_Get better soon. I’ll help you as best as I can. I am fine, when you are._

 

         He heard footsteps in front of his door.

 

 _Aramis._ He thought. _I am learning from Porthos._ He grinned and closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the relief of seeing Aramis return.

 

         Aramis quietly opened the door and looked into the dim room. He had closed the curtain of d’Artagnan’s window earlier. He stopped as he saw d’Artagnan lying next to Athos, calming him. D’Artagnan opened his eyes and looked at Aramis.

 

“How is he?” Aramis asked in a low voice.

“Not good!” D’Artagnan raised himself suppressing a cry. “ Earlier, he called for you several times, that’s why I woke up, but I didn’t tell him. I calmed him, but I’m not sure what’s wrong with him. He had trouble breathing again, that’s why he is lying in this position, but it’s better now and he was shivering very hard, but the tremors have left his body again.” D’Artagnan quietly reported.

 

         Aramis sank exhausted on a wooden chair.

 

“I feared that.” He silently admitted, putting his face in his hands.

“Stay with him?” D’Artagnan proposed, sensing that Aramis needed to comfort and check on his older brother. “I think I need some more sleep.” He added sheepishly.

“How are you?” Aramis asked gently.” He had totally forgotten to ask d’Artagnan about his well-being.

“Much better. My side is a little sore, but the pain has faded, thanks to you.” D’Artagnan smiled.

 

         Then he slightly shifted in his bed and closed his eyes. Athos was still sleeping. Aramis stood up and quietly and checked Athos’ breathing, pulse and forehead. Relieved that everything seemed to be normal he sat down on the stool next to his friend’s head and reached for his hand, which he absent-mindedly took in his and he started to draw small circles with his thumb just like d’Artagnan had done several minutes before. Athos softly moaned, then he stirred and sluggishly opened his eyes. He blinked several times, then he recognised Aramis, who was looking fondly at him.

 

“How are you, Athos?” He softly asked.

“Will I die?” Athos asked anxiously.

 

         A new layer of sweat had formed on his face and chest.

 

“One day we all will die.” Aramis started cautiously. “But as far as I can tell your body is healing and is much better than it has been for days. So, no you won’t die!”

“What’s wrong with me?” Athos asked, tears welling up in his green eyes.

“Your soul is catching up with all that has happened to you in the past days: seeing Milady again, being poisoned, being knifed, nearly killed in a fire, twice I’ve had to stitch you and being confronted with Maurice Coulon and Rochefort who nearly killed you five years ago wasn’t that much fun to relive. That’s a lot to handle Athos.” He softly explained.

 

         D’Artagnan pretended to sleep but he could hear every single word.

 

“I’m feeling so horrible, Aramis, I’m tired, but I cannot sleep, nightmares are haunting me and I’m acting like a pregnant woman. I have clung to Porthos’ chest today and couldn’t stop crying.” He softly explained with a bitter snort.

“I think it was the best thing for you. I’m sure that Porthos’ bear hug was good for you.”

 

         Aramis smiled, imagining the bizarre picture.

 

“Will I be …” Athos hesitated and gulped, then he started again, barely audible. “Will I be _fine_ again?”

“Yes, Athos, you will be fine again.” Aramis softly pressed his hand, then he stood up and stroked over his friend’s thick hair. “And you will be _my_ fine, not yours.” He smiled fondly. “I promise.”

 

         He softly kissed Athos’ cheek and to his own astonishment Athos endured it.

 

“Lemay is on his way. He will check on d’Artagnan and you and then I will give you a drink that will make you sleep better.”

 

         Athos nodded groggily.

 

“I’ll wait for that drink.”

 

         He pressed Aramis’ hand, closed his eyes and drifted off in a dreamless but not too deep sleep, knowing that his brother was watching over him, he felt safe.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	72. What’s wrong with him?

⚔⚔

 

        When doctor Lemay reached the garrison with Henri, Captain Tréville was already waiting for him.

        Tréville had used the last minutes to inspect Coulon’s corpse. He had slipped his hand into the filthy doublet, searching for an inner pocket but nothing. He already wanted to give up, but, rolling the body over onto his belly in order to check his back, he noticed that the fabric of his shirt was showing a small bulge. He pulled the clothing from the waistband and discovered a folded paper which had been slipped into the waistband, between skin and fabric.

 

 _What is that? I have to have a closer look …_ He had thought while he tried to figure out if this paper could be probable evidence to convict Rochefort.

 

        When the doctor arrived he put the note into his own pocket but Lemay noticed  Tréville standing in the middle of the garrison’s courtyard, reading a letter. As he looked around him he noticed a sad picture -surrounded by the still black wood of the infirmary and stable- Lemay gulped as he tried to ignore the bitter taste that was still hanging in the air. The horrible taste intensified as he neared the Captain of the Musketeers and he finally saw the dead corpse covered by some sheets lying at Tréville’s feet. He expected to examine the corpse at once, but Tréville approached him and asked him to check on Athos and then d’Artagnan first.

 

“It’s urgent, doctor. We think that Athos has had a relapse. Maybe it’s infection. Aramis went and checked on him fifteen minutes ago and he hasn’t been back to speak to me since. I thought it would be good to wait  for you first.” Tréville explained.

“Where are they? I have brought my medical bag with me.”

“They are in d’Artagnan’s quarters, I will show you the way.”

 

        Both men hurried up the stairs. Outside they were greeted by Porthos who stood guard.

 

“Any word from Aramis yet?” Tréville asked.

“No, I didn’t want to disturb, but if one of them was worse than before, he would have asked for help.”

“Alright, I think I will first check on Athos, then on d’Artagnan. Perhaps it’s best you come with me.” Lemay proposed and both Musketeer nodded.

 

        Tréville silently opened the door and let Lemay enter first, then he and Porthos followed. Aramis looked up as they came in but Athos remained silent. D’Artagnan was sleeping in his bed in the corner of his room, the weak light coming from the window above his head didn’t allow the newcomers to see his features. A camp bed had been brought next to his with just a stool between them. Lemay approached the sick swordsman, who opened his eyes as he heard the footsteps. He was still lying on his side. Aramis had placed one hand behind his back because Athos had had the intention to roll onto his back while sleeping and he hadn’t moved it. Lemay stepped next to Aramis and bent over Athos.

 

“I think it’s the first time that I haven’t had to wake you up, when I’ve come to check on you.” Lemay  said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” Athos whispered.

 

        He looked into doctor Lemay’s dark eyes with an almost childish expectation.

 

“Then we will find out together.” Lemay smiled encouragingly.

 

        Aramis wanted to step aside to free the stool for Lemay, but Athos pressed his hand, a sign that he didn’t want him to go away. Without saying another word Aramis sat back and stroked his hand softly.

 

“It’s alright Aramis, I can do my examination from the other side. You can help me to roll him over, first onto his back. Are you ready Athos?”

“You have to check on d’Artagnan first. He was wounded several hours ago.” Athos intervened as Lemay bent over him.

“I treated him earlier, he is in a better condition than you, Athos.” Aramis chided him.

“But he fears that he has been poisoned.” Athos tried again.

“He’s sleeping right now. Let him rest. First you, then him.” Tréville ordered from the back. His tone didn’t allow any objection.

“Alright, are you ready now?” Lemay asked his patient again, noticing his sweaty forehead.

 

        Athos nodded slightly. Aramis helped Lemay to position Athos on his back. They both noticed that Athos’ breathing became more uneven.

 

“No need to be agitated, Athos?” Lemay softly pressed his other hand, while Athos pressed Aramis’ hand in a firm grip. “I am only checking your temperature.”

 

        He laid his palm on Athos’ forehead.    

 

“You have a fever, but it is not very high. By the look of your tired face I would say it comes from your exhaustion. If it doesn’t start to rise, no need to worry.” Athos closed his eyes, but didn’t say a word.

“Alright, next I will check your chest. It may be a little cold now.”

 

        Lemay lifted Athos’ shirt to check the rash, which had healed properly.

 

“Your chest is healing very well.” He explained.

 

        Then he laid his palm on Athos’ left side of his ribcage and checked Athos’ heartbeat. The swordsman shivered at the cold fingers of the doctor on his skin. Lemay could feel the strong heart beating regularly, it increased as Athos started to breathe in heavily.

 

“Easy!” He mumbled. “No need to be afraid. Your heart is beating regularly.”

 

        D’Artagnan moved and whimpered in his sleep and they all froze, but the young man didn’t wake up and they watched his face becoming calm again. Athos sighed out loudly.

 

“What is it?” Lemay wanted to know, but Athos wasn’t able to answer. He had to fight to keep his composure so Aramis helped.

“He’s felt an uncomfortable pressure in his chest several times earlier today. I think they were caused by mild panic attacks.” Aramis explained.

 

        Lemay nodded understandingly.

 

“How does this pressure feel Athos? Can you describe it to me?”  

“It’s a tight pressure in the middle of my chest, sometimes on the left side.” He quietly told him.

 

        Lemay laid his palm on the spots of Athos’ chest that the swordsman had described and asked:

 

“Here and there?”

“Yes!” Athos nodded.

“Any pain in your arm or neck?”

“No, only in the middle of my chest, when I start to have breathing difficulties.”

“If it appears again, do those breathing exercises that I showed you. It could be coming from the stress your body has experienced lately. Your heart was beating much too fast after your poisoning and very slowly after you were knifed. Now it’s beating strong and normal again. From time to time it can happen that your body has to adjust to the trauma he went through. So, I don’t see any signs to worry.” Lemay calmed all the men in the room. Athos had to fight against the tears welling up in his eyes as relief flooded through his mind.

“Aramis we will now check on the wound on his back, if you can help me …”

        Tréville stepped next to Lemay:

 

“Let me help you!” He offered, while Porthos nodded and stepped next to Aramis.

 

        Before Athos could say a word of protest, he felt himself being lifted and gently turned onto his stomach. He felt his wound throbbing as his body touched the mattress again. The horrible jolt that hit his body before had returned, it went to his limbs and he started to shake. The shivers stressed his healing wound and a loud groan escaped his lips. He pressed his head into the pillow.

 

“Mmh … ‘thos … you‘ll ... fine ...” D’Artagnan mumbled in his sleep.

 

        Aramis softly stroked the dark head with a fond smile and the young man relaxed under his fingers.

 

“Aramis, too bad you are not a spider!” Porthos laughed.

“What?” Aramis raised his head questioningly.

“As a human, you don’t have enough arms to comfort everyone.”  

 

        Aramis smiled gently and looked down again at Athos who managed a stiff smile. Lemay turned his attention again towards his patient and he swiftly started to remove the bandage from the trembling man’s body, while Aramis softly stroked his hair. Exhausted, Athos turned his head into Aramis’ direction and forced himself to open his eyes. One shiver after another ran through his spine and he couldn’t stop it. To avoid the throbbing pain he opened his mouth wide and started to draw in heavy breathes. He coughed and panted for air.

 

“Easy, Athos!” Aramis’ voice faded in the background.

 

        He felt dizzy and everything was swirling. A new layer of sweat formed on his forehead, as he felt his heart throbbing faster. His hand reached for Aramis’ and he pressed it tightly as he fought for each breath. Lemay paused with what he was doing as he felt Athos’ state of health deteriorating.

 

“Athos can you tell me what’s wrong? I can feel your whole body is stressed right now.” Lemay softly said, feeling Athos’ increased pulse.

 

        Athos heard Lemay’s voice far, far away. Confused, he blinked several times, his green eyes staring unfocused at Aramis. The medic softly pressed his hand.

 

“Athos, what is it?” He softly whispered in his ear.

“I … I can’t … breathe … mis!” Athos gasped, while he frantically tried to catch more breath.

“Help me to roll him onto his side! Quickly!” Lemay ordered seeing the pale face of his patient who was struggling for air.

 

        Porthos swiftly helped to lay Athos onto his good side. Athos curled in a foetal position as another shiver grabbed his body and he tried to avoid the pain.

 

“What’s wrong with him?”

 

        Athos heard Tréville’s concerned voice in the background, while Porthos coached him in breathing more evenly and Aramis kept speaking comforting words in his ear, while making small circles with his thumb on Athos’ trembling hand.

 

“I have to check the wound first, then I can make a prognosis.” Lemay slowly said.

 

        He feared that infection had set in, but he didn’t want to frighten his patient yet.

 

“Try to calm him furthermore, while I check his back.” Then Lemay continued to remove the bandage.

“I could use some light here!” The doctor demanded and Tréville lit the room with a candle holding it near to Athos’ back wound.

 

        Lemay started to investigate the stitched wound.

 

“I can’t see any signs of pus or infection, but the wound is still inflamed. It should have healed further by now.”

“I had to restitch it last night, Athos has ripped two stitches.” Aramis explained softly.

“I see.” Lemay nodded. “Then the wound looks normal and is healing well.”

 

        He prodded the stitches to prove if they would last, but Aramis’ sewing was good. Athos groaned. The doctor’s hands hurt his injured side more.

 

“How did he rip them?” Lemay asked, feeling Athos still trembling under his hands and moaning from time to time.

“He was having nightmares and hurt his back by thrashing around.” Tréville explained.

“What’s wrong with me?” Athos sluggishly asked.

 

        His body had stopped trembling and following Porthos’ instructions had helped him to settle his breathing.

 

“Can you tell me the symptoms you have suffered lately?” Lemay asked.

 

        Athos tried to answer, but another jolt ran through his body and left him screaming out loud. Next to them d’Artagnan woke with a start and blinked worriedly at his mentor. He was obviously in great pain. The young man instinctively reached a hand towards his friend but he let it drop tiredly onto the bed frame when he saw that Athos was already in good hands.

 

“I can see that you are shivering and your stitched wound must hurt.” Lemay started.

 

        Athos didn’t answer as he was busy calming his breathing. Aramis took over for him.

 

“Fast heartbeat, low fever, breathing difficulties and anxiety.” He quietly told Lemay.

“Hmm … anxiety … have you had any more stress lately?” He cautiously asked.

“The man who is lying dead in our courtyard was the person who knifed him and tried to kill him several years ago. He identified him earlier.” Tréville explained from the background, well aware that he couldn’t name Rochefort’s deed as well. But it must serve as an explanation for the doctor.

“Alright, this could cause it, yes it looks like you are experiencing a panic attack, Athos.” Lemay explained softly. “Given the combination that you are afraid that something is wrong with your heart or that you might have developed infection, this can lead to your current state. Furthermore you are exhausted, so you cannot think clearly and that makes you more emotional right now.”

 

        Lemay bent over Athos while calming him.

 

“Great!” Athos groaned while squeezing his eyes shut.

 

        Lemay lifted his hand and checked it.

 

“Your pulse is faster again. Wait.” Lemay checked his pulse for over a minute. “I can feel it slowing down again. That’s good.” He smiled encouragingly.

“Doctor what can we do to make him feel better?” Tréville asked softly.

“What you are already doing. Calming him, helping him with the breathing exercises and most importantly he needs to sleep. His body and soul need to rest.”

“I can’t sleep!” Athos angrily huffed. “I try, but I can’t.”

“Athos …” D’Artagnan murmured sadly reaching a hand to grab his friend’s forearm.

 

        Athos nodded gratefully.

 

“Aramis, can give you something to drink which will help you sleep.” Lemay calmed his patient. “So for now bed rest, sleep and you need to eat and drink!” Lemay pressed his shoulder.

“Aramis do you need help to prepare the drink?”

“No, I have all the ingredients in my room.” Aramis said, pressing Athos’ hand and standing up from the chair. “I will go and prepare it.” He rushed out of the room.

 

        Porthos sat down on the empty chair and grabbed Athos’ cool hand. He felt the agitation leaving his friend’s body, but he was still wide awake and he could see the anxiety in his eyes. Athos still felt cold.

 

“Hmm … can I have another blanket, I feel cold.” He murmured.

“You are cold, because we haven’t changed your bandage yet and we have lifted your shirt.” Porthos softly chuckled. “I will help you with that.”

 

        He stood up and together with Tréville they renewed his bandage, wiping the sweat from his face and chest and putting Aramis’ honey salve on the closed wound. Then they helped him to put his shirt back in place. When the Captain noticed that Athos was still shivering he left to fetch another blanket from his room. He returned several minutes later, while Lemay had started to check on d’Artagnan’s freshly stitched wound. Athos silently watched his younger brother gasping from time to time, his gaze never left the dark irises, conveying through his eyes all the support and comfort he could express, and he listened to the doctor’s words.

 

“The wound is healing well. I cannot see any pus or infection. Aramis’ needlework is excellent.”

 

        D’Artagnan and Athos both sighed, relieved and weakly smiled at each other. Lemay continued his examination while Captain Tréville softly tucked his Lieutenant in the second blanket and rested his palm on his back, needing the physical contact with his officer to let him know that everything would be alright. Then he turned to Lemay.

 

“How is d’Artagnan?”

“The wound is healing properly. No sign of infection. He hasn’t any fever. He is tired, but I cannot see any signs of poisoning.” He declared.

“Thank God!” D’Artagnan sighed out loud and drifted off in another deep sleep under his mentor’s fond gaze.

 

        Aramis returned with the special drink for Athos. While Porthos helped him onto his back and lifted him gently, Aramis handed him the cup. Athos drank it all in one go ignoring the bitter taste. Then he curled back on his side. Aramis watched him closely.

 

“Do you need something else?” The medic asked him.

 

        Athos thought about the question but he felt more and more tired. He wanted to answer. He shortly opened his mouth, but instead of saying something, he drifted off into a deep sleep.    

 

“That was fast!” Porthos announced astonished.    

“The valerian leaves I used earlier didn’t work properly, so I mixed several plants: hop, hawthorne and melisse, they are, all combined, a strong sedative.” Aramis explained. “They can help him to sleep, but he shouldn’t drink too much of it. I also think that his extreme exhaustion caught up on him, and knowing that our young friend is safe helped him to sleep … at last!”

“So what now?” Tréville looked questioningly into Lemay’s dark eyes.

“Athos needs lots of rest and it would be good if one of you could be with him all the time. I don’t like his breathing difficulties, they are stressing his heart. If he gets another panic attack, it would be good if someone were here to help him with it.”

“Why? He knows how to manage them!” Porthos asked curiously.

“Of course he knows, but when the mind is gripped by a panic attack, it can cause you to stop thinking clearly. Then it’s good, if someone calms him and helps him with the instruction to do them.” Lemay explained.

“I will take the first watch!” Porthos announced, nodding understandingly.

“Alright then, let’s check the dead corpse in the courtyard. I need to report to the King!” Tréville ordered.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         As they approached the dead corpse of Coulon, Tréville breathed in the fresh air. He tried to get rid of the picture in his mind of seeing his Lieutenant still suffering but his thoughts returned to Athos’ still too pale face, those frightened green eyes. He wanted Athos to be better soon.

 

_It’s probably best that he is now in d’Artagnan’s room. The sleeping draught seems to have helped him and Porthos is staying with both of them, so stop worrying and concentrate on the further steps._

 

         Angrily he shook his head to think of something else. After the rain clouds had vanished again, the sun shone hot on the courtyard of the garrison. Flies were droning around the white blanket, trying to reach the corpse under it.

 

_How can I return back to business? How can I stay calm? I have to report to the King. I will need Lemay’s opinion that he was killed by poison. Anyway the King will be furious and I should be too. Without Coulon we have nothing against Rochefort, no witness and no evidence, that Rochefort is behind the attack against Athos. Behind the death of at least four, with Coulon now five people. This man is insane, a mass murderer! What does he want to achieve. He must be stopped somehow or this will end in a tragedy but I can’t convince Louis right now, after I declined to join his council. I should have taken the post, Rochefort would then have never been able to reach such a high position in the King’s court._

 

         Tréville stopped his brooding as he heard Lemay’s voice. The doctor was bending over Coulon’s dead body.

 

“I have seen this man before!” Lemay stated after Aramis had removed the blanket with which Maurice’s corpse had been covered.

“Where?” Tréville curiously asked, while watching Doctor Lemay nearly sitting down on the courtyard ground as he tried to control his balance, while investigating the dead corpse further.

“Several times in the palace during the last weeks, sometimes in the gardens but I don’t know his name.” Lemay added.

“His name is Maurice Coulon!” Aramis stated angrily. The medic still looked concerned. Tréville knew exactly that his marksman had to force himself to return back to the courtyard with them.

“So, this is the man who worked with O’Sullivan?” Lemay asked curiously.

 

         He was still investigating the body, opening the man’s mouth, sniffling, observing his tongue, lifting his greasy hair to reveal his ears, moving his head from side to side, unlacing his shirt to examine his torso.

 

“We think so.” Tréville answered cautiously.

 

_If I tell the King that Coulon was the adjutant of O’Sullivan, I have to start now with developing a story._

“He’s the man who knifed Athos at the Seine and set the fire to our stables.” Aramis added grimly, well aware that they couldn’t tell Doctor Lemay the whole story and who was really behind the attacks.

“Strange!” Lemay exclaimed.

 

         He pulled at the man’s lower eyelids and sighed, deep in thought, then he lifted the bandaged hand and unwrapped it revealing the bloody gash in Maurice’s palm. Lemay winced at the sight and probed at the swollen edges.

 

“What do you mean?” Tréville asked impatiently. “Can you tell us, if he was poisoned or not?”

“Oh, my expression has nothing to do with the death of this man. I mean it is strange. I’ve never seen him with O’Sullivan, but several times with Rochefort.”

 

         Lemay stood up and went over to his horse, which was still waiting for his owner in the courtyard. While he was looking for the book he had brought with him, Aramis and Tréville shared a knowing glance.

 

 _Another puzzle part that fits. If Lemay has seen Maurice Coulon with Rochefort, it only states_ _the obvious that Coulon worked for him. Alas, I can’ prove it._ Tréville sighed.

 

“Ah, here it is, Captain!” Lemay shouted out loud.

 

         He had put the old book on the bench in the courtyard, opened it and looked for the right poisonous plant. “About your question, I can prove that this man was also poisoned or that he poisoned himself, but if you ask me, he was poisoned.” Lemay continued.

 

“What makes you think that?” Aramis asked.

“Do you see the cut on his hand. It looks like someone cut him there today. Around the wound you can see a red rash. I haven’t found any signs of a rash anywhere else on his body, so he was poisoned through this wound.” Lemay explained.

“So, it is poison?” Tréville asked.

“Yes, it is poison. You can prove that by the white foam around his mouth, the blue lips, the blue ears as well and in the way he has pressed his hand on his chest I would say he experienced heart problems as well.”

“Was it belladonna as well?” Aramis wanted to know.

“I doubt it. This poison worked very fast. I have just checked in my book and if I had to guess I would say he was poisoned with aconitum which is very dangerous. After being exposed to this plant you only live for several hours.”

“But could he have poisoned himself as well?” Tréville asked, knowing very well that Coulon hadn’t done this to himself.

“Let me think. I need a closer look, Captain, yes actually he could have poisoned himself. If he opened something with a knife, he could have hurt his hand. If that knife had a poisoned blade, he could have done it by accident.” Lemay explained.

“So, you think it was most likely an accident?” Tréville asked.

“Captain, if he really wanted to poison himself, it would have been easier for him to drink the poison. I mean why cut his hand with a poisoned blade and then wrap the wound …” Lemay said to them.

“Perhaps he thought he had no other choice as we found him in his rat hole?” Aramis helped.

“His door was closed and Porthos had to force it open. Maybe he feared he would be arrested or he just acted on instinct when he heard us.”

 

_Aramis you are developing a good story and explanation here. Thank God you are playing along and thank God d’Artagnan doesn’t hear your suggestions right now, because then he would be convinced that he was also poisoned._

 

“You might be right that O’Sullivan was already dead when Coulon was poisoned or poisoned himself.” Lemay concluded. “Or is there another perpetrator still lurking in the dark?” Lemay asked and looked straight into Tréville’s eyes.

“Not that I am aware of!” Tréville hurried to say without losing sight of Lemay’s questioning face.

“But you never know!” Aramis added. “I only hope their whole murderous complot against Athos has died with both men.” Aramis angrily shook his head.

“Athos will heal, Aramis!” Lemay pressed Aramis’ shoulder understandingly.

“Right now, we have to assume that O’Sullivan and Coulon worked together. With both men dead I really hope that there won’t be any more poisoning in and around the palace.” Tréville said to Lemay.

“What will you do now, Captain?” Lemay asked.

“Now it is my duty to report to the King and he won’t be glad to hear that our only witness and possible second perpetrator is dead.”

“If you like I can join you.” Lemay offered.

“I really would appreciate that. If the King hears that my men haven’t killed him, but Coulon killed himself or at least poisoned himself by accident, he won’t be as upset as I expect him to be.”

“I will fetch our horses and come with you!” Aramis exclaimed and hurried away. As his officer left, Tréville turned to Lemay.

“What is bothering you, Captain?” The intelligent doctor asked Tréville as Aramis had left.

“Hmm?” Tréville tried to look surprised.

“You doubt that this man killed himself.” Lemay stated.

“No, it’s not that!” Tréville tried to evade further questioning.

“What is it then? Tell me?” Lemay urged. “Maybe I can help you!”

 

         Tréville sighed out loud then he looked into the doctor’s brown eyes.

 

“Tell me the truth, is Athos really alright, doctor?”

 

         Lemay noticed the concerned look in Tréville’s blue eyes.

 

“He will need time, but as far as I can see his friends are there for him, he will be better soon.” Lemay softly answered Tréville’s question.

“Thank you, Doctor Lemay.”

“Just go easy on him for a while.”

“How?”

“At least one week resting, make him eat and drink. Show him that he’s not alone in this. I know that Athos is a very private person, but he shouldn’t be alone in the next weeks.”

“Oh, I doubt that his brothers will let him out of their sights.” Tréville smiled. He knew his men too well.

“If this is really your question, Captain. Just make sure that Athos gets enough time to recuperate. The same goes for d’Artagnan!” Lemay advised.

“I will!” Tréville promised.

  


⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Rochefort, do you have a moment?”

 

         The Comte turned around and looked into pale blue eyes which belonged to the woman of his dreams. She wore her blond hair untied, cascading in golden waves on her shoulders and around her neck he could see a beautiful necklace with a blue diamond which matched her eye colour.

 

“Of course, your Majesty”, he bowed. “How can I help?”

“I am still deeply shocked that my dear cousin Ana-Josefa was murdered. At first the doctor said that she had died of the flu, that’s why she was taken away out of the palace to be buried out of the town, so that this illness wouldn't stay in our city. But now …”

 

         Queen Anne felt her eyes welling up and she blinked several times to control her own emotions.

 

“Now, you ask for a formal burial?” Rochefort asked carefully.

“Yes, she was a dear friend to me, my cousin, a noblewoman and most of all she was a friend and confident from Spain. She helped me  - just like you - to feel at home here in Paris.” She looked into Rochefort’s ice blue eyes.

 

         Then she approached him and laid a hand carefully on one of his. Rochefort could feel her soft warm skin on his cold hand and he had to force himself to calm his own arousal. She smelled of roses and jasmine and he didn’t dare to look into her eyes at this special moment. The air suddenly felt suffocating and he had to slip a finger in his collar to lose it slightly. He felt sweat cover his temple and his spine.

 

_Yes, you feel it too. We belong together. Soon, very soon, my love!_

 

“I could have asked Doctor Lemay, but I wanted to ask you first. You knew her -all those years back- can you please find out where she was taken to. I owe her at least a formal burial.”

 

         She let Rochefort’s hand go and turned her head away, so that he couldn’t see her tears that were now running down her face.

 

“Your Majesty, of course, I will find that out for you. If I may ask do you have something special in mind for her burial?” He wanted to touch  her face with his right hand and turn it back to him, but he didn’t dare. It would have been too inappropriate.

“She loved the _Sainte-Chapelle_. On our first week in Paris, when I felt very low and depressed she went with me there to pray. She came into my room and told me that she had found a beautiful little chapel near _Le Louvre_ with coloured windows. In this place -she told me- she had a special feeling of being nearer to God. I went with her and we prayed and she was so right, Rochefort!” Queen Anne had pulled herself together again and looked now into Rochefort’s face.

“You, know, she was so right. All those colours which flooded the whole chapel when the sun’s rays shined through the windows made me forget all my sorrows and pain. We went there so often over the past years to pray to Mother Mary.”

“You want the burial to take place there?” Rochefort asked.

“Yes, the mass for her and afterwards her tomb shall be there too. Then I can go there and pray together with her, when I feel sad and lonely.” She smiled at Rochefort.

“I will speak to the Archbishop, but I am sure that if King Louis orders the burial for your cousin to be in the _Sainte-Chapelle_ there won’t be any problems at all.”

“Thank you so much, Rochefort. I knew that I could count on you in this delicate affair. I am glad that you are back safely in Paris.” She smiled at him.      

 

         Rochefort slightly bowed his head, while the Queen hurried away in her pale blue dress which made soft noises as she walked down the corridor back to her chambers. He watched her, her grace, her royal holding of head, the way her long slender hands moved at her sides, the waves of her silky skirt dancing around her frail body. He imagined the pearly skin of her slim hips and he suddenly felt the need to breathe in fresh air. One day, one day he would be able to possess this treasure.

 

_If she knew … thank God … it was the only way to kill her cousin._

_Sooner or later she would have warned the Queen  about me._

_She told lies about me … like Athos did..._

_She believed Athos … she wanted to warn him … she knew that I did something to him … she had listened when I was talking to O’Sullivan about poisonous plants and how I could use them and where to get them. We spoke about the symptoms and I asked for belladonna … for the Queen of poisons … to first let Athos suffer and then to kill him slowly and very painfully._

_This sneaky rat … she had to … she couldn’t stop thinking that I was evil …_

_Oh it was so easy to give her the poison … in her orange juice …_

_She drank it in one go and complained that it tasted bitter … that morning ..._

_Her evil talk has now finally stopped. I am not evil … I only had to protect myself, us, so that we can be together again._

_I am not … can’t you see that, Anne, I love you ..._

_I never told O’Sullivan about my real plans, but I made a mistake._

_After he left I imagined out loud what this poison would do to this miserable Lieutenant of the Musketeers. A fake Lieutenant … I don’t know what Tréville sees in him … perhaps he is his lover …_

_He made a fool of me. He talked bad about me… it was because of him that I never became a Musketeer … I was of nobility too … but he lured Tréville and then he lured Ana-Josefa._

_I wanted to stop him but his brothers and his incompetent Captain saved him and then the Cardinal sent me away. To prevent me from “causing further harm” as he put it._

_That’s why I ended up in a Spanish prison cell._

_This is all Athos doing … he caused all this … and he has to pay for it._

_Oh how good it was to see him suffer, nearly collapsing in the throne hall that day, swaying dangerously. I could have told the King that he was drunk, but the stupid Duke destroyed my plans …_

_But it was so good to see him so down and at his lowest … even better if he could have had  died ..._

_Ha … ha … ha ..._

_One day … but not now, my darling Queen._

_Ana-Josefa failed to see his evil doing, she had fallen in love with him and he told her more lies about me._

_I had to stop her. I am sorry that you mourn, my darling Queen, but with her being dead you won’t have to listen to any other lies any more …_

_Well this Constance could cause troubles too but she is not a noble woman, so I can easily move her out of your service. One little mistake and she won’t be your lady-in-waiting any longer._

_Oh my Anne, my darling Anne, my Queen Anne._

_It hurts me to see you in such distress, but I am here to comfort you._

_I feared you would have believed every single lie … my beloved Queen._

_She had to disappear … can’t you see that ..._

_I am so sorry that you are mourning … but I am glad that you came to me and asked me for help._

_Yes, my darling Queen … you are still in love with me … I can feel it …_

_Soon … very soon … we will reign together_

_It’s about time to concentrate on getting rid of your foolish husband …._

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	73. My Only Family

⚔⚔

  
  


        Porthos removed his boots and settled as comfortably as he could in a chair. He crossed his legs and propped his feet on the edge of Athos’ camp bed, facing the sleeping men. He looked out of the window. Big fluffy silver grey clouds were running over a bright blue sky, they were beginning to colour with shades of pink and gold. After the rain, an earthy smell emanating from the courtyard was carried by the slightly cool draughts making their way into the room through the disjointed planks of the door.

Porthos breathed in deeply, relishing breathing in the summer like perfume. 

 

_ It is as if the rain had washed everything. _ He thought.  _ Earth, leaves, blood, ruins, fear, illness. It’s over. Now it’s over. Everything will be fine … _

 

        He closed his eyes, noticing for the first time in hours how he felt exhausted and sore. The skin of his burnt arm was itchy, not painful, just itchy.  _ It comes from the healing, it’s normal _ , Aramis had said. He rolled his shoulder, contracted the muscles of his thighs. His whole body was stiff and sore. 

        The sun disappeared almost suddenly behind the roofs of the garrison, sending more gold and purple rays over the room. Porthos let his eyes wander around the small room, over the ochre walls, the slightly dusty floor, the white sheets, to finally settle on his two friends. The dying light of this long day softening the tired features of the two wounded men reminded Porthos of the paintings he had seen, that dreadful day when they had discovered the seamstress’ body, in Saint-Joseph-des-Carmes. Athos’ long almost golden hair and beard making him look like a sad Christ, and d’Artagnan a faithful Saint Jean, their hands stretched out as if in their sleep they wanted to comfort each other, as if they were afraid of losing each other. 

 

_ Porthos, what’s happened to you, you will become like Aramis if you continue with these poetic thoughts!  _ Porthos smiled, but his smile faded quickly.

 

        They had been so close to losing them, to lose everything and everyone they cherished. He balled his hands into tight fists before gripping the armrests, then feeling his eyes sting, he rubbed at his eyelids angrily. 

 

_ No, Porthos, it’s not the time to be weak. They are fine, everything is fine, except that the murderer is still parading at the palace and will probably parade for months and years, until one of us, or the four - even five- of us find a way to make him pay. _ __

 

        He tried to imagine a world deprived of Athos’ quiet snort and aristocratic voice, a world deprived of d’Artagnan’s childish laugh and eagerness, a world deprived of Aramis, because his excessive friend would lose himself again, flirting with women and death until the latter caught up with him. 

 

_ Alone. I would be alone. You are my family, don’t abandon me. My family! Ah!  _ Porthos snorted inwardly _. I have a family, I have a father, but who is he, where is he, will he ever want to know me? No, I am alone, definitely alone. _

 

“Porthos, you are too noisy.” 

“Wha …!”

 

        Porthos blinked. He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that two dark eyes were staring at him with an expression both gentle and interrogative. The young man had a frown on his forehead which Porthos wished he could erase with one of his usual jokes, but he didn’t have the strength to do it. He just smiled at the young man, a half smile which didn’t even manage to deepen his dimples.

 

“What’s the matter, Porthos?” D’Artagnan whispered, keeping an eye on Athos.

“Nothing.” Porthos mumbled removing his feet from the bed.

“Mmh, that’s why you look sad, tired, worried.”

“Alright, everything.”

“Now, that’s an answer. And?” D’Artagnan softly smiled.

“I don’t know … Don’t worry …” Porthos murmured, lowering his head to look at his feet.

“Too late, my friend.”

 

Porthos snorted and raised his head to look at the ceiling, trying to concentrate. 

 

“If … if you … Ah … I don’t know how to say it …” He sighed. “If you had …”

“Died?” D’Artagnan finished.

“Yeah … If you had died, you and Athos, I don’t know how … how …” Porthos blurted, unable to put his thoughts into words.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and continued. 

 

“You are my only family.” He let out, at last, with a loud shuddering sigh. “I couldn’t stand losing one of you …”

 

        He let a heavy silence settle over them. The room was now more dark, only lightened by the last sunrays which were falling on the trio. The rest of the room was dark making them feel as though they were  in a cosy and warm cocoon.

 

“As we couldn’t stand losing you.”

 

        The voice made Porthos jump and he looked at the grey-green eyes which were now fixed on his face with a serious and fond expression.  

 

“Athos, you are awake!” Porthos nearly shouted.

“It seems so!” Athos murmured, his voice shaking slightly. “How are you?”

“How are you, Athos?” Porthos asked by way of an answer.

“Better … I think …” Athos said, trying to stretch his arms and legs as if testing his whole body. “D’Artagnan?” 

“Fine.” D’Artagnan replied with a smile and gripping his friends forearm to squeeze it reassuringly.

“And what else?” Athos asked quirking an eyebrow.

“Sore and still sleepy but I feel better.”

“Anyone ready for a supper?” Porthos asked suddenly with a tinge of hope in his tone.

 

        Athos’ smile disappeared. D’Artagnan looked at him worriedly and Porthos’ mouth seemed to curl downward. 

 

“You know, nobody can live without eating. It’s good for the morale too.” He tried hesitantly.

 

        Athos raised his head to look at him, a smile back in his eyes but it was d’Artagnan who spoke first.

 

“We have discovered your magic Porthos! You can resolve every issue with a good stew.”

“But … I … it’s …” Porthos stammered.

“You are our good angel, Porthos.” Athos completed. “And you are right, I think I could eat a little something.” _And drink something, my throat feels so dry ..._ “D’Artagnan?”

“Let our wizard do his magic and bring us something to resolve our issues.” D’Artagnan approved curling up in his bed, as much as his wound allowed him, with a satisfied sigh.

 

        Athos brushed his arm with the back of his hand in a tender gesture and a smile brightened Porthos’ face and expression, even if his eyes were suspiciously wet.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜     

 

“Captain, finally, I hope you have good news for me!” King Louis exclaimed as Tréville entered the throne hall, followed by Aramis and Doctor Lemay.

 

        Tréville bowed slightly into the direction of the King and scanned the huge room, but Rochefort was nowhere to be seen.

 

“I am afraid I have news for you, Sire, but I doubt that you will be elated to hear it.” Tréville tried to prepare his King about the bad news.

“Ah, Tréville, you are always talking in riddles. What has happened? No, let me guess, you had no luck finding him.” Louis grinned. “You’re no better than Rochefort, he came about an hour ago and he told me that he has searched the whole of Paris with his Red Guards, but that he couldn’t find him.”

“Actually … er … we have found him, your Majesty!” Tréville tried to gather his thoughts.

“Oh, excellent!” Louis shouted. “Where is he? I want to question him! Now!”

“This won’t be possible, Sire!” Tréville tried again.

“Are you suggesting that I am not capable of questioning a murderer, Tréville. I am not a fool. He has to answer me!” Louis became agitated and his voice sounded angry.

 

        Lemay stepped next to Tréville.

 

“Your Majesty, what Captain Tréville is trying to tell you, is that you cannot talk to the perpetrator because he is dead.” Lemay said in a neutral tone.

“Dead!” Louis shouted angrily. “Tréville, I told you that I wanted him alive! What have your Musketeers done this time?” Angrily, he glared at Aramis who was standing next to Tréville in an at ease position.

“When we found him, we were already too late, your Majesty!” Aramis tried to explain.

“What do you mean, too late?”

“As my men found him, he had already poisoned himself!” Tréville interjected, while hoping that Louis would believe their theory but the King wasn’t stupid.

“Poisoned?” Louis asked.

“A very strong poison, Sire!” Lemay helped out. “If you have contact with this poison you die in a very short time.”

“We believe he poisoned himself by accident.” Tréville pointed out to the King. 

 

        Aramis and he then explained to the King what had happened, how they found Coulon and how Lemay had helped with his medical knowledge. Louis still looked angry.

 

“This means I cannot hang him publicly!” Louis shouted, disappointed.

 

        Tréville was glad that Queen Anne wasn’t with them.

 

“Sire, I am sorry. We tried our best.”

“Oh, Tréville, I am finally used to your best or the best your men can do. You have let me down again. I am not sure how long I’ll tolerate that.” 

“It wasn’t his fault.” Doctor Lemay tried to explain, but he was disturbed by the loud voice of Rochefort who stormed into the throne hall.

“Your Majesty, I have just heard the news that the Musketeers …” Rochefort paused with a theatrical gesture as he recognised Tréville and Aramis standing in front of the King.

“Rochefort! Where have you been? Perhaps your guards could have brought me this perpetrator … what was his name … anyway … alive. My Musketeers have failed me once again.” Louis angrily glared at Captain Tréville, who bowed his head. He had to keep himself together not to explode right now.

 

_ How can the King be so blind. One decision, only one decision … my honest feeling and opinion that I wouldn’t be able to serve him at the Court. Politics have never been easy for me and now he will punish me for the rest of my days as the Captain of the Musketeers and not only me, but my men as well. I wonder how long I will be the Captain of my men. Louis, I try to serve you as best as I can … yes he is right, I am failing him right now in not telling him what I know about Rochefort … it’s a continuing nightmare. _

 

        Tréville inspected the light brown floor of the throne room. 

 

“So it is true?” Rochefort asked. “Coulon is dead?”

 

_ Interesting now Rochefort knows his name. He’s making one mistake after another and I can’t question him about that. If I ask now he will say that his men gave him the name. It is ironic! Does he really think we have forgotten that Maurice Coulon helped him five years ago to capture Athos. Perhaps he has forgotten or thought that we would not recognise the drawing. He underestimates us. That’s it. This way we will catch him. We have to …  _ Tréville thought, while he was still trying to stay calm. He could hear his own heart beating faster.

 

“Coulon, that was his name. Thank you Rochefort. Yes, Captain Tréville just informed me. His men tried to arrest him, but he poisoned himself in order to evade my public questioning and hanging.” Louis exclaimed.

“Yes, my men gave me this name after they saw the drawing. I had completely forgotten about him. He was a Red Guard under Cardinal Richelieu several years ago. My time in prison has made me oblivious. I should have remembered him at once, but his outer appearance has changed.” Rochefort explained to the King, but he was interrupted by the doctor. 

“Actually he could have been poisoned as well!” Doctor Lemay tried to defend the Captain of the Musketeers.

 

        Tréville  groaned inwardly. 

 

_ Not now, not in front of the King, of Rochefort. Ahh … the doctor doesn’t know what we know, but he is smart and intelligent. I hope Louis will not follow his explanation or this will become more and more complicated. _

 

“Are you implying that Coulon was murdered too?” King Louis asked confused.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Rochefort said with his angry high pitched voice. The glance he gave the doctor wasn’t pleasant or complaisant and Lemay wasn’t sure what he did wrong.

“If you say that he was poisoned, who could have done that?” 

 

        Louis asked angrily and slightly shaken. The idea that the murders hadn’t been solved  completely yet, didn’t please him at all.

 

“You are speaking nonsense, doctor!” Rochefort stated firmly.

“No, he isn’t. He is only listing the possibilities.” Aramis injected. 

 

        Aramis was not sure where their discussion would lead to and he glared at Rochefort inconspicuously.

 

_ Interesting how Rochefort reacts!  _ Aramis thought.  _ He’s trying  to hide that he has anything to do with it, but the doctor is making him nervous. Now he needs to convince the King, the doctor and us that Coulon has committed suicide as well. _

_ Ha, what an actor standing in front of the King, behaving like a peacock and lying. What does this monster plan next? How can we get rid of him? How can we achieve justice for Athos? Calm Aramis. This man is dangerous and he has the trust of the King. You cannot confront him right now. I can see Tréville struggling with himself in order not to punch him in his face. I don’t envy him right now.  _

 

“Doctor, I doubt that there is another perpetrator. I myself have seen Coulon several times with O’Sullivan at the palace.” Rochefort said.

“It’s odd, I have never seen him with O’Sullivan, but only with you.” 

 

        Lemay answered a little too harshly, but he was irritated and wondered why Rochefort reacted so aggressively against him.

 

“Gentlemen!” Louis shouted loud. “What is it now, was he murdered or did he commit  suicide?” The King wanted to know.

“We believe that he committed suicide or moreover that he poisoned himself by accident. He had a wound on the inside of his palm. Maybe he cut himself with his knife which was poisoned as he tried to flee from my men.” Tréville tried to calm the tense atmosphere.

 

_ This is ridiculous. Now I am playing Rochefort’s cards. God, am I glad that Athos isn’t part of this whole spectacle and has to witness this. The doctor needs to be careful, telling the King that he has seen Rochefort and Coulon together wasn’t that wise …  _ Tréville thought.

 

“At least the Musketeers found him. With O’Sullivan’s written confession and this Coulon dead there won’t be any poisoning going on in or around the palace.” Rochefort stated firmly.

 

_ This doctor has to be careful, he saw me with Coulon. For God’s sake, he nearly destroyed my whole plot which I wanted to present to the King. The Musketeers failed again by arresting the second perpetrator. At least there is the forged letter, in which O’Sullivan confesses his crimes. Perhaps I can find another letter from Coulon for the King but this would be too suspicious, the man barely could read and write. No, it has to work. Tréville has confirmed the theory of suicide or that it was an accident. Ha ha … the Captain of the Musketeers is such a fool. _

 

“So you are certain that only Coulon worked for O’Sullivan?” King Louis asked.

“Your Majesty, there is no hint that O’Sullivan had another accomplice as well. Coulon was the man who attacked Athos, he was seen in our garrison’s courtyard. Besides, the more people that O’Sullivan engaged the less his plan would have worked. Someone could have warned you, us … no it is more than plausible that he had only one accomplice.” Tréville answered the King.

“I agree with Captain Tréville. We have O’Sullivan’s confession that he was behind the murders and the attacks against Athos. One man helping him was enough. Coulon was a former Red Guard but the Cardinal expelled him. My men have told me about him and I remember now that he approached me several times and asked me if he could work for the Red Guards again but I refused his request. Doctor, perhaps it was then, when you saw me with him. He asked me several times, begging me. It was ridiculous.” Rochefort looked at Lemay then he continued:

“Your Majesty, O’Sullivan needed someone with inside knowledge of the palace. Coulon needed money and had that information. Alas we cannot question either O’Sullivan or Coulon, but if I had to guess I would say that O’Sullivan asked around for a former Red Guard. People told him about Coulon and he paid him for his dirty work.” Rochefort explained to the King.

“You are right, Rochefort. At least we don’t have to fear another attack. Come, we need to discuss how we can prevent other attacks against me and my men and you have to tell me what Coulon wanted from you.” King Louis said.

 

        Rochefort bowed, then he followed the King.

 

“I can develop some strategies how to make you feel safer …” Rochefort was already hurrying himself to please the King.  

 

        Aramis rolled his eyes and tried to lock eyes with his Captain, but Tréville avoided his look. As Aramis finally caught a glimpse of his face he froze, Tréville looked as if he was about to kill someone, he looked older, his face mirrored his thoughts, Aramis was glad that neither King Louis or Rochefort had recognised this expression. Before King Louis finally approached the door of the throne hall, he turned around and said.

 

“Captain Tréville you are dismissed, I’m disappointed with you. It’s time that you considered how you want to lead your men. You were lucky this time, both perpetrators are dead, but what will happen next time … if you fail again ...”

 

        Tréville wasn’t sure how he should answer the King, but Louis had already left. Doctor Lemay shook his head unbelievingly.

 

“You have done nothing wrong, Captain.”

“The King thinks differently …” Tréville sighed.

“You know that there is still a possibility that Coulon was murdered too. If you like, I can have a second look at the corpse …” Lemay tried to help.

“No need doctor, my men have identified Coulon as the man who attacked Athos and set fire in the garrison’s stable. It’s over, thank you for your help.” 

 

        Tréville tried to smile. He shook hands with the doctor, then he turned around to Aramis.

 

“Come! We should make plans to prevent the King from being disappointed again.” Tréville said.

“You do know, that this is like fighting against windmills.” Aramis told his Captain. “It is impossible to please the King with everything. You have done a good job so far, don’t let anyone tell you differently.” Aramis tried to encourage his commanding officer.

“Let’s go Aramis, before you write a poem about my heroic deeds for King Louis.”

 

        Tréville slapped Aramis on his back. He wanted to smile, he knew exactly what Aramis had tried to do, but he couldn’t.

 

 _It feels so wrong. We are leaving the palace and the real perpetrator goes unpunished … Louis is right I have failed him, but I have failed Athos as well. Be careful Rochefort! I will watch you, you won’t be able to hurt Athos or any of my men again._ _The next wrong move you do, you are mine …_

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	74. He will get his punishment!

⚔⚔

  
  


“Well …” Athos whispered staring at the closed door.

“Well …” D’Artagnan repeated with a frown, in the same uncertain tone, his eyes in the same direction.

 

They turned towards each other at the same time, which brought a smile to their lips. Athos’ stomach suddenly growled and their smile widened. He reached a slightly shaking hand to take a cup and he managed to drink without spilling water or feeling too much pain. D’Artagnan didn’t intervene and even averted his gaze to make his friend feel strong and independent again. 

 

“I propose a toast!” Athos said to d’Artagnan’s surprise.

“To what?” He asked curiously.

“We are alive. Isn’t it a good enough reason?” Athos smiled raising his cup.  

 

D’Artagnan settled in a more upright position and poured more water into Athos’ cup before taking his own.

 

“If you say so!” He answered knowing very well that Athos was hiding his pain … because he himself was doing exactly the same. 

 

         They drank in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Athos had managed to settle into a semi-upright position propping himself on his hands. Again, d’Artagnan had let him do it without intervening, staring blankly into the direction of the door.

 

“He is not well … ” Athos stated out of the blue. 

 

         D’Artagnan nearly jumped. 

 

“Wh … what? Who?”

“Porthos … You were thinking of him.” Athos smiled softly.

“You are right.” D’Artagnan admitted.

“And?” Athos asked in a whisper as if trying not to startle the young man.

“Something is bothering him.” 

“He has been our pillar, the cement between us, our …” Athos began. 

“You are talking like Aramis!” D’Artagnan snorted. “You have forgotten  _ Good angel _ !”

 

         Athos smiled fondly before continuing.

 

“With the strongest wings I know, but I fear everything is too much for him and the weight will make him fall if we are not careful.”  

“That’s what I was thinking about. Did you see his face before he left the room?” 

 

         D’Artagnan asked, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet, his eyes lowered, his hair like a black veil hiding his eyes. Athos nodded thoughtfully. He knew it wasn’t only the tiredness and his wound - their wounds - which were making him so sad … 

 

“He feels lonely … he misses a family … you know … of course … we are his family, but … I mean …” D’Artagnan murmured as if talking more to himself than to Athos. “He is an orphan.”

“As we all are.” Athos sighed.

“Athos, it’s not the same.” D’Artagnan replied, turning to Athos in a movement which made his hair sweep his cheeks. “Our fathers loved and raised us until …” He stopped, seeing a shadow darken Athos’ eyes. “Sorry, Athos, I’m so sorry … I …” D’Artagnan reached out his hand towards his friend as if asking for his forgiveness. “I apologise …”

“You are right. Even if my father wasn’t like yours, I had a father.” Athos agreed.

 

D’Artagnan slumped, relieved, focusing again on the hem of the sheet. Athos reached out to briefly lay his hand on his friend’s frantic fingers trying to appease his anxiety before continuing. 

 

“I am not sure Porthos wants all of us to know but … He thinks that Tréville knows about his father, knows who he is or was, but he doesn’t want to tell him.”

“Oh!” D’Artagnan breathed out.

“We must help him, comfort him and the first step is to heal quickly. He doesn’t need to worry about us any longer.” Athos said firmly. “That’s why we will welcome with enthusiasm the meal he will bring very soon, that’s why you will continue to hide your pain.” 

“I don’t …”

“Remember, you are more like me than you know!” Athos cut in, raising a meaningful eyebrow. “We will eat, drink and as soon as we are alone we will be allowed to scream in private.”

 

         D’Artagnan burst into laughter but it was only short-lived as his wound was jarred by the movement. He closed his eyes, blinded by the force of the burn and tried to curl up around the pain. The tip of warm fingers on his neck helped him to calm down.

 

“Breathe, slowly, deeply, and if you need, scream, we are still alone.” 

 

D’Artagnan moaned, clenching his jaw and tried to stifle his cry. Athos silently stroked his neck, silencing his own suffering because stretching his arm like that wasn’t a good idea …

 

“Better?” He asked a moment later.

“Better.” D’Artagnan answered with a hoarse voice, raising his eyes and sighing heavily. 

“The first step isn’t the easiest.” He smiled awkwardly cocking his head.

“Shall we drink again to our first victory?” Athos proposed.

“Victory?”

“We didn’t scream.” Athos answered with a wink. “ And we are not lying like dying men.” 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

**_In the meantime, outside_ **

 

         As soon as he was outside, Porthos leant his back against the wall next to the door. He was greeted by a waft of fresh evening air which made him breathe again. He had managed to keep calm while he was in the room but it had been a hard task. He had almost held his breath in order to rein in his emotions in front of his friends, but as soon as the door closed, his forced smile which was starting to hurt his jaw disappeared, and he slumped, bent at the waist and drew in big gulps of air, his hands on his knees. He shook his head, angry at himself for letting the weakness and pain overwhelm him. His arm throbbed, his thigh throbbed, his lungs throbbed, his heart was beating furiously. It was not the time to yield to panic, not the time to let his emotions win, not the time to think of himself. What were his problems with a supposed father compared to what his friends were experiencing?

         He had to stop thinking of this man who gave him life, and what a life! He had a family, the best he could wish for. He didn’t care about money or a title and things like that, he had to tell them all. He just needed to know, to know who and why, who his father was and why he had abandoned them, why he had destroyed his beloved mother. He missed her so much. 

         He squeezed his eyes shut and took in a few more deep breaths, trying to focus on the sounds around him. Dozens of martins were flying and crying high in the evening sky after having spent most of the day flying close to the ground where the rain had brought a myriad of insects. A dog barked in the distance, a woman yelled at her children, probably trying to make them come back home. At the back of the garrison, a nightingale began its night song, maybe perched in the lime tree whose perfume would soon reach the balcony where he stood. The lime tree! Porthos felt a twinge of sorrow when memories of the small cemetery flooded his mind. He saw Athos, broken and incoherent, falling against him, shaking, crying, so small and vulnerable, and suddenly his eyes watered. He felt a lump in his throat ready to explode. He had to move, to walk, to do something, they needed him. He left the wall and reached the balustrade which he seized with shaking hands.

 

_ Calm down, calm down, Porthos, it’s over, now. _

 

         He looked up at the darkening sky and resigned himself to letting hot tears escape his eyes. He lifted a fist ready to hit the balustrade but he froze, the noise would alarm his brothers, instead he slapped his thigh … and whimpered! 

 

Morbleu _ , what a fool you are, Porthos!  _

 

         It was indeed a stupid gesture, but it had at least the advantage of making him come back to reality. 

 

“How are they?” A voice under him asked . 

 

         He looked down over the railing to see Serge, his crooked face even more distorted in his effort to distinguish Porthos’ expression in the shadow of the balcony.

 

“I’ve prepared something for them. You come down, boy. I am sure they’re starving while you, boy, are enjoying the birds’ song!”

 

         Porthos smiled through his tears and wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. Good old Serge! He too thought that food worked magic on every issue under the sun! He straightened, shook his numb limbs and undertook to make his way into the courtyard where the old man was waiting for him with a large smile revealing his misaligned teeth. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         The delicious fragrance of a chicken and leek stew was the first thing to enter the room \- allowing the two men to prepare smiling relaxed faces - when the door opened, closely  followed by a large basket loaded with a steaming pot, bowls, bread, cheese and fruits. Porthos’ almost shy and hesitant face appeared then. 

 

“Are these … cherries?” D’Artagnan asked with a large smile on his lips.

“Er … yeah … and … mmh … strawberries.” Porthos added in a low voice.

 

         He was standing in the doorway, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

 

“I wanted … to …”

“Come in?” Athos asked raising an eyebrow.

 

         Porthos seemed to hesitate, he looked down at the basket, snorted and went to the beds.

 

“How are you Porthos?” Athos asked with a warm tone in his voice, when the big man began emptying the basket.

 

The streetfighter ignored the question focusing his attention on his task. He ladled two bowls with stew and handed them to his friends, then he stood up and … found nothing to do in order to avoid Athos’ inquisitive looks. He sat down on the chair, crossed his arms on his chest and looked up at his friends with a suspicious look. D’Artagnan and Athos looked at each other uncertainly. An odd silence spread in the room until Porthos couldn’t stand the quietness any longer. 

 

“Eat!” Porthos growled.

“And about my question?” Athos tried again.

“I’m not the one lying in a bed, so …” Porthos answered a little too harshly.

“But …” D’Artagnan tried in turn.

 

         Porthos sent him a severe look. Then his eyes watched Athos for a moment. The latter began to comment on the stew with too many words, which d’Artagnan answered with too much enthusiasm and as many words. 

 

“What are the two of you playing at?” Porthos asked  frowning suspiciously.

 

         Of course, Porthos wasn’t fooled, he could see the winces when they were lifting their spoons, the paleness on Athos’ hollow cheeks, the sweat on d’Artagnan’s forehead, their trembling fingers and the painful effort they made to keep these stupid smiles on their faces.

 

“What?” D’Artagnan almost choked on a long leaf of leek.

“Do you think I am a fool? I know what you are doing.”

“They say that smiling can heal the body along with the spirit.” Athos added in his stoic voice.

“Oh, coming from you Athos, it’s indeed funny!” Porthos huffed.

 

         Athos bowed his head sheepishly, his spoon idly scraping the edge of his bowl. His stomach couldn’t take more food but he had to try.

 

“Don’t force yourself.” Porthos ordered gently retrieving the bowl from his friend’s trembling fingers. Exhausted, Athos sank back onto his pillow. 

 

         Porthos reached for d’Artagnan’s bowl as well but the young man tightened his grip on it.

 

“Hey! I am not finished yet!”

 

         Athos snorted with a fond smile.

 

“Do you want something else Athos? Cherries, strawberries?” Porthos asked unsure what to offer to his suffering friend.

“I think I’d appreciate a few strawberries.” Athos answered, his voice more weak and low.

 

         A soft rasp at the door interrupted them. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A little earlier at the palace_ **

 

         Silently and deep in thought Tréville left the throne hall. Aramis followed him, knowing very well that he mustn’t disturb him or discuss with him Rochefort’s behavior while they were still within the walls of the palace. Rochefort had his Red Guard spies everywhere. As they reached the staircase leading back to the courtyard, where their horses were waiting for them, they heard heels running over the marble floor.

 

“Aramis!” The woman shouted, ignoring the stares of some pages and Red Guards who were looking back at her. “Is it true?”

“I’m waiting downstairs!” Tréville mumbled to Aramis, then he nodded to the woman in the pale blue dress.

“Constance?” Aramis smiled at the young woman. 

 

         Her cheeks were reddened from the fast run through the corridors of the palace and she was breathing heavily.

 

“Has d’Artagnan really been injured?” She asked fighting against her tears which were welling up.

 

_ The whole palace is a grapevine. Nothing stays secret for very long time. _

 

“Some Red Guards have spoken about it down in the gardens.” She tried to explain, seeing Aramis’ facial expression.

“Yes, it’s true, d’Artagnan was hurt earlier, but he will be fine again. I promise!” Aramis explained to her. 

 

         Constance gasped loudly laying a hand on his pendant.

 

“Oh, thank God. I was so worried. I know that he is a soldier …” She paused. “How is Athos?”       

“Give him some days and he will be alright again.” Aramis smiled now into Constance’s dark eyes. “I’m sorry, I really need to go. I will let d’Artagnan know that you asked about him.” He slightly bowed his head and hurried behind his Captain.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


         Tréville stepped out into the courtyard. After the heavy rain shower, hours ago, now the sun was shining again, soft white clouds were hanging in the sky and the air smelt humid. He tried to gather his thoughts.

 

 _Aramis and women … I need to talk to him. What will I tell Athos? I am sure he wants to know what I have told the King. I will spare him the knowledge that Louis is angry with me. Damn … there must be a way to stop Rochefort but if_ _speak up now, I will lose my post. I need to be watchful … this man is a dangerous and_ _a venomous snake. What’s that …?_

 

         The Captain of the Musketeers looked astonished at the Duke of Savoy who just appeared with other men in the small courtyard. He dismounted from his brown horse and looked at the content of a wagon which other men had brought into the courtyard.

 

“You have to repack and transfer all of it onto my own wagons.” The Duke of Savoy declared with a loud voice.

 

         Tréville raised his eyebrows and started to shake his head.

 

“What, Captain? Have you never seen plants in your life?” A mocking voice startled him and he turned around. 

“Of course I have seen them blooming in the palace gardens, right now in so many different colours: red, blue, violet, yellow …”

“Stop teasing me.”

“You started it .” Tréville answered sheepishly.

“But why does he want all those flowers. It must be over a hundred.”

“Oh, his wife expressed that she misses the French flowers and the beautiful gardens in Savoy. That’s why he went to several market places and that’s why he delayed his departure. I have followed him the past few days, I think it is a really romantic way to show his wife that he loves her. Of course he has met with some Spanish gentlemen as well. I think he tried to work out if the Spanish could offer him a better treaty than France, but they won’t.” Milady explained to Tréville.

“All these past days I wasn’t sure if he had anything to do with the poisoning of Athos, he behaved very suspiciously.” Tréville  said quietly.

“Yes, because he wanted to surprise his wife, at least with the flowers. I’m not sure, if she already worked out, what he has been up to. They are leaving tomorrow morning, lady Christine is spending some time with Queen Anne, if she could choose she would stay longer.” Milady answered.

“Did you overhear any talks he had with those Spanish men or Spanish spies?” Tréville wanted to know.

“Oh, Captain, I am not very wealthy, if you want to know, you have to pay for it.” She grinned sheepishly.

“So, you haven’t found out anything.” Tréville looked into her face.

“You are right, you’re a very intelligent man. I know why Athos is working for you.” Milady smiled back.  

“If you had found any important information, you would have already shown yourself to Aramis. Waiting for him in a dark corner here at the palace and asked for money. I know you.” Tréville stated firmly.

“You are wrong!” Milady answered with a cold voice.

“I am wrong about the fact that you have no information about the Duke of Savoy and his contacts in Spain?”

“No. With this assumption you are right.”

“You are wrong about O’Sullivan. He wanted to see me dead … or let me suffer … or uncover me as the spy of the Cardinal, but not Athos … He knew that Athos was only following orders ...” Milady looked into Tréville’s blue eyes. 

 

         She could see the hurt in them.

 

“Good God, you are not stupid. You know that it wasn’t him.” She paused. “But why then tell the King that it was O’Sullivan and this fool Coulon?” She asked surprised.

“I am afraid, I can’t tell you, but you are a smart woman, I am sure you will find out.” Tréville turned around.        

 

_ Where is Aramis? We need to go back to the garrison. _

 

“Will he be alright?” Tréville could hear Milady’s quiet voice as Aramis appeared at the door which led to the palace.

“I hope so.” Tréville softly answered. 

 

         He turned back to her, but Milady had already disappeared. He only could see a glimpse of her dark green dress vanishing into a page’s entrance.

 

“Oh, the Duke of Savoy is dealing with irises, peonies or … I don’t know … perfumed things with coloured petals which will be wilted before they arrive in Savoy.” Aramis tried to mock he had finally left the palace. “There must be a hundreds of different plants, all blooming, what is he up to …”

“A present for his wife, that’s why he is still here. He ordered them , so that they can take them back to Savoy.”

“Where do you know that from?”

“Milady, she just told me.”  

“Strange, I haven’t seen her, she’s like a cat, she can appear out of nowhere and disappear in the same moment. I will never understand why Athos fell in love with her.” 

“Says the man who can read the thoughts of women?” He mocked his officer. “I do understand him, Aramis!” Tréville looked at his medic, then turning more earnestly he said,  “By the way, you should consider which woman you are meeting at the palace.” 

 

         Aramis frowned.

 

_ What does the Captain know? Did Athos talk in sleep? I am doomed, if he knows …”  _

 

         He felt his hands starting to sweat under his gloves and he turned pale, and worst of all he knew that Tréville had noticed the shocked expression which he hadn’t been able to hide.

 

“What do you mean, Captain?” He gasped.

“You know exactly what I mean, stay away from Lady Marguerite, because of her Athos stayed longer in the palace to prevent you from doing stupid things. I know if it comes to matters of the heart you are blind, Aramis, but Athos won’t change and he’ll wait for you to prevent any trouble, but with Rochefort …”  , he paused now and his face paled.

 

         Both men had taken their horses by the reins and walked out of the courtyard of the palace.

 

“I will try to end my liaison with her, she has fallen in love with me, and I can’t help her, I don’t want to break her heart.” Aramis looked into his Captain’s eyes.

“We have to watch Athos’ back … you have to watch his back, Aramis … as long as we are unable to do anything against Rochefort … he is still in danger. A fanatic like Rochefort will not stop until he reaches his goal.” Tréville paused and looked into Aramis’ eyes.

 

         Aramis felt a cold chill running down his spine.

 

“I will!” He gulped hard. “We will stop him, Captain! I wish we could have done more today but there will come a time, when Rochefort cannot hide any longer. He won’t have a chance to threaten Athos’ life a third time.”

“Well, stay away from the women in the palace: Lady Marguerite, Constance or any other women with a lovely smile and beautiful daydreaming eyes,” Tréville now emphasised angrily. He knew that he couldn’t change Aramis and the latter knew that Tréville spoke out of fear.

 

_ He must never know why I really stay longer at the palace, he must never know. What can I do to protect my love, my own son, on the one hand, and be a caring and protective brother on the other hand. I can’t neglect my son, I can’t ignore the fact that I am a father. I need to be around him and around her. She is so unhappy, so sad … What have I done? _

 

“Let’s move, Aramis.” 

 

         With these words Tréville wanted to mount his horse, but Aramis stopped him. 

 

“Captain! What shall we tell Athos? I mean about the conversation with the King, how he answered and how Rochefort reacted … Athos will ask …” Aramis sighed.

“You mean we shouldn’t tell him everything?” Tréville asked quietly.

“Perhaps not now … I think that we have to chose our words carefully … he’s still not his usual self and I fear this whole incident will occupy his mind for a very long time.” Aramis explained softly.    

“What do you propose, Aramis?”

“Well, maybe don’t mention to him that Louis was angry about us Musketeers!”

“He will know!” Tréville snorted.

“I mean …”

“Aramis, I know what you mean!” Tréville sighed. “No worries, I will go easy on him, but if Athos asks, I won’t lie to him. He knows me too well.”

“About Rochefort …” Aramis started.

“He will get his punishment … it will take some time  …  but we will get him!” Tréville locked eyes with Aramis and the medic could see the confidence in the eyes of his Captain.

“Alright, let’s check on our two patients!” 

 

         Aramis mounted his horse, and Tréville followed him. When they finally reached the garrison both soldiers wanted to check on Athos, but Henri approached them. 

 

“Captain?”

“What is it Henri?” Tréville asked.

“Can I talk to you?” Henri asked.

“Of course, Aramis go ahead!” He ordered, then he turned his attention to the older Musketeer. “Tell me …”

         Aramis hurried away, while the Captain was listening to Henri’s excited voice.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	75. Eat, Drink and Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting our story.  
> Two days ago, we have posted two chapters at the same time (73 and 74). I hope you have read both.  
> Today, only one.  
> Enjoy.♥♥♥

⚔⚔

  
  


**_D’Artagnan’s room_ **

 

        Porthos looked at the door. He didn’t reach for his pistol, because he knew who was coming.  _ After all _ ,  _ a murderer wouldn’t have knocked,  _ Porthos thought, a smile appearing on his lips.

 

“Come in!” He shouted with his loud voice.

 

        Aramis’ messy curls barely hid the anxious looks, pale cheeks and shadows under the eyes, but the man was smiling when he entered the room.

 

“Hey, you are eating! Good! Would you mind sharing with a poor exhausted soldier?” Aramis asked cheerfully, taking Athos’ bowl from Porthos’ hands. 

 

        The latter shook his head with a snigger observing his friend devouring the rest of the stew and seizing a large slice of bread to clean the bowl. After having swallowed the last mouthful he sighed loudly.  

 

“I was …”

“Starving … ” D’Artagnan supplied.

“Now, gentlemen, I am ready to examine you.” Aramis grinned with a sheepish smile on his lips.

“Mmmh.” Athos moaned with an exasperated expression.

“You are the first, my dear. I will need you on your belly for a few minutes. Porthos help him to roll over.” 

 

        Between the two of them, they managed to help Athos move without hurting him too much. Then, Aramis gently lifted the bandage and a big smile graced his features. 

 

“It’s healing very well. No signs of infection, it’s not swollen, not hot, less red. Perfect.” Aramis knew precisely that Athos needed to hear these words right now. 

 

        He felt Athos’ body sag with relief under his palm and heard the twin sighs of d’Artagnan and Porthos. After cleaning the wound carefully and applying a thin layer of salve, he bandaged it again. While Porthos helped Athos to settle more comfortably on the small bed, Aramis turned to d’Artagnan who grimaced at the idea of what was coming. 

        Aramis settled between the two beds in a way that his body hid d’Artagnan. He knew that the young man was loath to let his friends see him so vulnerable and … naked. Aramis gently checked his stitches, cleaned them of the small threads of linen he had put on it, which were adhering to the wound then, as he did for Athos, he applied his favourite honey and rose mixture. 

 

“Good. Is it painful?” Aramis asked quietly.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Try again.” Aramis smiled.

“Alright. It hurts when I move, when there is pressure on it and … when I laugh.”

“Normal. Don’t worry, it’s healing well, no sign of infection.” Aramis reassured him.

“And poison?”

“Unless you are dead and talking to me anyway, no, you weren’t poisoned.” Aramis laughed.

“Pardon?”

“You would be already dead, my friend. Now try to sleep.” He added, while dressing him again very gently.

 

Standing up, he was surprised not to see Porthos towering over the two beds. Athos had fallen asleep and was breathing calmly. Behind his bed, Aramis spotted a mass of dark curls. Porthos had slid against the wall at the side of Athos’ bed and his head lolled gently following the rhythm of his breathing. Aramis looked down at d’Artagnan who smiled fondly and mouthed: 

 

“He is not well … I think it’s not only the exhaustion … there is something …”  He was stopped by a yawn.

“Try to sleep, I will stay here.” Aramis whispered.

 

        D’Artagnan’s eyelids closed at once and he fell asleep in less than a minute. Aramis idly ate a few strawberries before approaching Porthos. He watched him worriedly. Even in his deep sleep, his forehead was creased by a frown and his lips were curled downwards.  

 

_ What’s the matter with you, my friend. What are you hiding?  _

 

        He slid against the wall and sat down next to the sleeping man, he crossed his legs at the ankles, crossed his arms and closed his tired eyes. Porthos sighed and mumbled in his sleep before letting his head drop onto Aramis’ shoulder. The latter smiled fondly and laid his cheek on the dark curls, prepared for another night of watch. 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        A soft knock on the door startled Aramis as he sat on the floor next to Porthos who was even more slumped against him, exhaustion and worry finally having won. Aramis didn’t dare to go and open the door. He was loath to disturb his friend’s slumber and to see the anguished expression in his eyes again. Both of their patients were finally sleeping. He raised his head as Captain Tréville carefully opened the door.

 

“How are they?” Tréville whispered after observing the whole scene in front of him. 

 

        In a far corner several candles were burning, lighting up the room in a dim red and yellow glow. D’Artagnan and Athos seemed asleep. Aramis looked overtired and Porthos who had just opened his eyes as he tried to focus his sight, threw an undecipherable glance at them. He looked sad and Tréville couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

 

_ Telling him about his father will only hurt him more. He won’t believe me, but seeing him like this. What shall I do? One step at a time, first Athos and d’Artagnan must be better and then ... _

 

“They are sleeping, finally!” Aramis whispered softly back. “What did Henri want?”

“Oh, he asked if he and some of the others should search Coulon’s house again for more evidence.”

“And?” Porthos asked.

“I told him that it doesn’t make any sense right now, it won’t change anything.” Tréville sighed. 

 

        Aramis nodded understandingly, while Porthos only looked down at the floor. Tréville could easily read the disappointment in his face, which looked haunted in the yellow-white flare of the candlelight.

 

“Have you both already eaten something?” Tréville softly asked.

“Yes, Serge has prepared plenty of food for our two invalids and after we made sure that they had eaten and drunk enough, we shared the rest.” Aramis explained, while Porthos was still silent.

“You both look like you could use some fresh air.” Tréville noticed the tension between Aramis and Porthos, something had occurred. “I will wait here for you, I doubt that you will sleep in your own rooms tonight, so go for some fresh air, rest a little and come back in an hour. I will watch over them and call you, if I need help.” Tréville said.

 

        Aramis gave a sigh of relieve. 

 

_ The Captain knows us too well. I need to talk with Porthos, but in here I can’t. He wouldn’t dare to speak in case he woke Athos and d’Artagnan. Something’s wrong as d’Artagnan  indicated earlier.  _

 

“Come Porthos, let’s check on our horses.” 

 

        Aramis stood up, stretched himself, then he clapped Porthos’ shoulder, who followed him reluctantly his sad eyes checking a last time over both sleeping men before leaving the room.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Aramis headed to the courtyard but stopped in the middle of the stairs when he noticed that Porthos wasn’t following  him, he looked up at him questioningly. 

 

“Porthos?” He asked softly, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

 

        His friend was leaning against the door and staring blankly at the sky above the roofs. Instead of answering, Porthos left the door and brushed past Aramis, nearly knocking him down, to stride across the courtyard in the direction of the back of the garrison where he disappeared.  

 

“Porthos!” Aramis shouted following him at a fast pace balling his fists frustratingly, his long coat dancing around his knees.

 

He thought he would find him with the horses but Porthos was nowhere to be seen. Aramis continued his search and soon entered the quiet cemetery where he found Porthos, his forehead against the bark of the lime tree, his fists joined above his head. He watched him for a few minutes, basking in the fragrance of the freshly opened flowers of the tree. The sugary thick perfume calmed his nerves but his heart started to beat faster again when he saw Porthos hit the trunk with a terrifying force. He repeated the gesture once, twice, three times, until Aramis approached him quietly and wrapped his fingers around the tight fist. 

 

“Porthos … What is it?”  

“Leave me alone!” Porthos shouted freeing his hand from Aramis’ hold and walking away. 

 

        He stood motionless amongst the tombstones, breathing shakily, his head bowed. Aramis took a few steps towards him and reached for his friend’s elbow. He led him towards the old bench under the tree but Porthos recoiled as if frightened by the sight of the mossy stone. 

 

“Not here.” He mumbled.

 

_ Here is where I thought I’d seen Athos become insane. It feels like an eternity, but it’s only a few days. My goodness, he could have died here, in my arms, like Maurice today in the Courtyard. No, I need to get rid of this picture in my mind. A dead Athos lying in my arms … nooo ... _

 

        Aramis gripped his elbow tighter and guided him towards a secluded corner of the yard, behind a thick yew where a bench, as mossy and old as the other one, was nearly disappearing amongst the high weeds and the heavy flowers of a wilting white peony, whose browning petals were nearly touching the ground. Porthos dropped onto it, hiding his face in his large hands. Aramis sat down next to him without touching him. Porthos was breathing heavily, his shoulders heaving with the force of the air entering his lungs, he was visibly trying to calm himself.

 

“Tell me, Porthos.”

“Nothing to tell.” He mumbled, his voice muffled by his fingers.

 

        Aramis waited patiently. It was a virtue he had learned to acquire in the past days. Finally, Porthos raised his head and looked into the distance, but patience was a virtue Aramis had too recently acquired and he needed to practice a lot to improve it. 

 

“You know I can’t read your mind, Porthos.” He said, frustrated.   

“There is nothing to read.” Porthos replied sharply.

“On the contrary. I am sure there is a lot to read and you just need help to decipher it.” 

 

        Slowly, Porthos turned his gaze towards him, blinking his eyes as if waking up. The first things Aramis managed to read were helplessness, sadness and exhaustion. Porthos’ eyes were glistening with unshed tears and his eyelids seemed darker, his skin was almost grey, his dimples looked like wrinkles. 

 

“Tell me, Porthos.”

 

        Porthos rubbed his unshaven cheeks and looked up at the sky.

 

“I … When …” He stopped and sighed.

 

        Aramis laid his hand in the crook of his friend’s elbow. Porthos closed his eyes briefly then he looked over at the lime tree.

 

“I think … I tried to be strong … He needed it … you needed it. I had no right to show my pain …” 

“No right?” Aramis exclaimed. “ What do you mean?”

“Aramis! You couldn’t care about Athos and worry about me …” Porthos almost cried.

“Oh, Porthos ...” Aramis whispered sadly squeezing the fragile giant’s arm.

“And … you can’t understand … no, you can’t.” Porthos murmured bowing his head.

“Maybe you can try to explain and my bird brain can try to understand.”

 

        Porthos snorted and Aramis felt the warmth of the small smile spreading in his chest.

 

“I never knew my father, I never even thought of him. My mother was my only world and now … I learn that he might still be alive … and I have so many questions Aramis, so many questions, and I know that Tréville knows and hides something. He’s avoiding my questions …”

 

        Aramis listened patiently, his hand never leaving Porthos now trembling arm.

 

“And …”

“And?” Aramis tried.

“And when Athos was so … lost … so confused and ill … I thought I would lose him.”

“We would lose him, Porthos.” Aramis replied a little too harshly.

“It’s not the same.” Porthos mumbled. “I never had a family. You all are my family and to lose him would mean to lose a brother.”

 

He looked up at Aramis and noticed that his friend’s eyes were slightly teary. Porthos’ eyes widened and he laid his palm on his friend’s hand. 

 

“Sorry, Aramis, I’m sorry … I didn’t want …”

“I understand what you mean, don’t worry.”

 

Porthos sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Aramis slung an arm around his shoulders and Porthos leant into the comforting warmth of his friend’s embrace.

 

“Let me explain why you are like this, Porthos, you ...” Aramis began before Porthos interrupted him.

“And there is more.”

 

        Aramis looked at him surprised.

 

“That evil murderer who is still parading at the palace, not just unpunished but also admired … It’s unfair.”

 

Aramis tightened his grip on Porthos’ shoulder, guiding him a little more against him.

 

“Now, you will listen to me, my dear friend. You were hurt, both physically and emotionally, you helped Athos night and day, you investigated, you saved Athos’ life, you comforted him and while going through all these tasks, you just forgot to rest, eat and take care of yourself.”

 

        While he was talking, Aramis felt tremors running through Porthos’ body. He knew what it meant. Porthos laid his head on his friend’s shoulder, hiding his sorrow against the medic’s neck. Aramis closed his other arm around the trembling shoulders.

 

“Now the plan is: eat, drink and sleep … I don’t mean a nap, but several hours of sleep.” Aramis whispered, softly scratching his friend’s scalp. “But not before killing this grief, take your time, Porthos, we are alone here.” Then he added to alleviate the tense atmosphere, “but try not to stain my perfectly clean shirt.”

 

        Porthos couldn’t help but raise his head and check the state of said shirt which wasn’t as white as his owner had just pretended. He chuckled and poked Aramis’ ribs with his elbow. Then, they both waited in the heavy perfumed and warm air.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Tréville slowly sat down on the small stool between the two beds that Aramis had occupied minutes ago. He looked over to d’Artagnan, the young man looked more like a boy with his long dark hair covering part of his face and his eyes. He could hear his soft breathing. The young man seemed to be in a deep and restful sleep. Worriedly, his pale blue eyes scanned his other injured soldier. He expected that he was asleep too, such as Aramis had stated earlier, but as he looked into his face, Athos slowly opened his eyes feeling the presence of his Captain.

 

“How was it?” He softly mumbled.

“How are you?” Tréville ignored Athos’ question and looked instead in the green eyes of his officer, which were shimmering.

“I suppose better than in days … but …”

“But what?”

“Ahh, I don’t know … you should speak with Porthos …” Athos let his head loll on the other side of the small bed in order to evade Tréville’s critical gaze.

“Athos! Look at me!”

“Hmm …” Athos turned his head back and locked eyes with his Captain.

“What is it?”

“Nothing … I only wish that the medicine Aramis gave me earlier would work like the last time … I … I cannot sleep … I try but … I’m so tired … of everything.” Athos sighed and closed his eyes again.

“Rest … I’m sure that sleep will come fast, I’ll wait with you.” Tréville softly pressed Athos’ shoulder.

 

        At that moment d’Artagnan sighed out loud and both men turned their attention to the young man. D’Artagnan continued to sleep after Athos, who had opened his eyes once again, had reached out his hand and laid it softly on the young man’s arm.

 

“Was it that bad?” Athos softly mumbled as he could feel d’Artagnan relaxing again.

 

_ He’s avoiding my question about what’s wrong. Of course. He’s turning out to be his usual self again. The man who doesn’t talk about his feelings, tries to hide his emotions. Athos you need to talk with us, only thus you can become better. _

_ I will answer your question. I am not satisfied with the outcome myself and I know that you are curious about what has happened at the palace. What Rochefort has said, how he acted, but I won’t tell you, not now, at least not everything … Even if you pretend to be capable in handling the bad news, your body is telling  me something different … _

_ How I wish to see you fit again! How I wish to have you back as my officer! How I wish this had never happened to you! _

 

        Angrily, Tréville freed himself from his thinking and turned to Athos.

 

“You know our King!” Tréville huffed much too loudly.

“Shh ... Captain, we should at least let d’Artagnan sleep.” Athos whispered. Then he continued with a stoic voice. “Louis is a fool …” He started but was interrupted by Tréville.

“Careful Athos … if someone hears you talking like that, it can be interpreted as treason.”

 

_ As if it does change anything right now. With Rochefort free and alive I have to fear for my life every single day ... _

 

        A shallow smile crossed over Athos’ lips. Then he started again:

 

“Louis is blind … that’s why he needs a Captain like you, that’s the reason why it is good that you haven’t mentioned anything to him about Rochefort. Not yet! I know you. You have sworn to follow your duties and that’s what it costs. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for a greater good.” Athos added while searching Tréville’s eyes.

“Athos, I … I’m sorry …” Tréville paused. He gulped. “Why can you stay so calm?” He softly added and felt the need to grab Athos by his shoulders and shake him but he didn’t dare to hurt the young man more.   

 

_ Why isn’t Athos angry or mad with me? Why is he so understanding? _

 

“What for? Why?” Athos’ frowned. 

 

        Tréville stayed silent.

 

_ I failed you Athos, I failed you … If I only … _

 

        For a moment Tréville had to close his eyes, he turned his head in the direction of d’Artagnan, who was still sleeping like a groundhog, so that Athos couldn’t see him blinking a tear away. Then he gathered himself and smiled at Athos, it was the smile of a proud father, which he was offering his grown-up son, before he let him move out.

 

“You know why, Athos.” Tréville softly said and squeezed Athos’ shoulder again. Then in an even milder tone he continued. “Close your eyes and try to rest, my son! Sleep will come. I’m here. You are safe.” Tréville softly mumbled. 

 

        Athos shivered under his blankets. He could feel the pain in his back and squeezed his eyes’ shut again. Talking to his Captain had strained him, even if he didn’t want to admit that to himself. Tréville, who noticed the pain in Athos’ face, stood up and tucked Athos tighter in his blanket as another shudder gripped the young man’s body.

 

“Rest!” He ordered then he added in a reassuring tone, “you will be better, soon!” .

 

        Athos obeyed and closed his eyes. Tréville sat down again and laid a protective hand on his shoulder. Soon he could hear Athos’ breathing changing, his Lieutenant had fallen asleep again.

 

_ Forgive me my son. I couldn’t do anything against Rochefort, not today.  _

 

        He wanted to scream, to shout, to beat something, anything, Rochefort over and over again, but instead he stayed silent and watched his two injured soldiers sleeping.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	76. No hay amor sin pena ...

⚔⚔

 

         The creaking wood of the balcony made Tréville jump and reach for his weapon but when the door slowly opened it was to reveal Aramis’ dishevelled head. The two men just stared at each other without a word, each of them unconsciously making a mental note of all the marks the last ordeals had left on their features.   

         Tréville raised a questioning eyebrow and Aramis answered by a shrug. His eyes were dark, surrounded by black shadows, Tréville sighed and stood up, stretching his limbs and grumbling something about becoming old. Aramis didn’t comment, he was uncharacteristically silent and his expression bore something almost aggressive.

 

“How are they?” He mouthed.

“They are sleeping rather well. It took a long time for Athos to fall asleep but now, he is calm.” Tréville whispered, his eyes on Athos’ sleeping form, checking one more time, to see if Athos was really asleep.  

 

         They were standing face to face in the middle of the room. Aramis was about to head towards the beds, rounding Tréville, when the latter caught his elbow.

 

“Something’s wrong Aramis?” Aramis felt Tréville’s fingers digging into his flesh.

“Nothing.” Aramis mumbled abruptly dislodging the Captain’s hand a little too harshly and turning to bend over Athos.

 

         While Aramis reassured himself that Athos had no difficulty breathing by putting his ear to his patient’s chest and listening to his breathing and heartbeat, Tréville took some further steps towards the door, he felt dizzy and overtired. The Captain of the Musketeers watched his medic’s back for long seconds, trying to analyse Aramis’ behaviour, then he turned around, his shoulders hunched and left the room. Aramis watched him as he closed the door. He sighed loudly and took a pillow and a blanket, then he sat down between the two beds. D’Artagnan was lying on his back his head turned towards Athos who was on his side. Aramis could feel their breath on his cheeks, and it was a reassuring feeling.

         The air in the room was thick and Aramis wished he had opened the window before settling for the night but he feared that moving again would make too much noise. He turned towards Athos whose hand was dangling over the bed frame, Aramis slowly reached out to take it in his, but he stopped, instead he laid his head near Athos’ on the edge of the mattress. He had to stay awake, but he felt so tired.

         Athos moved slightly and Aramis smiled when he felt his friend’s wavy strands tickling his skin as the man inched slightly towards him. Athos sighed and resumed his deep sleep. Now, Aramis didn’t dare to move an eyelash, his neck bent in a position he would regret come morning.

 

“Mmmmh ... nooo …” The swordsman groaned.

 

         Aramis shot upright at the heartbreaking plea. Athos’ fingers were clenching and unclenching restlessly crumpling the blanket in which he was tucked.

 

“Shhh ... It’s alright ... I am here.” Aramis whispered mindful of the other man’s sleep.

“D’Art ... gnan ... He …”

“He is here. He is safe.” Aramis murmured prying Athos’ fingers open to slip his palm into the tight fist but Athos slapped his hand away and tried to sit up. Aramis stood up and sat next to him on the bed facing him and gripping his shoulders.

“Stop that Athos. You  will only hurt yourself.” He hissed, throwing an anxious look towards d’Artagnan who, luckily, seemed still deeply asleep.

 

_A contorted face ..._

_The devil ..._

_A black and white face._

_A crooked smirk._

_You were dead ... I saw you in the courtyard … It can’t be … No …_

 

“Don’t touch me!”

 

         Athos snarled menacingly, pushing Aramis away and managing to sit up. His face bore a terrified and terrifying expression. He was staring blankly, his eyes unfocused, his pupils blown, his mouth wide open.  

 

“Athos, please.” Aramis pleaded on the verge of tears as he reached again and tried to lay his hands on the trembling sweaty shoulders.

 

_They caught him ..._

_At last ... but where is my little brother ...?_

_He killed him ... No ... please_...

_No, it’s me, I killed you, my brother ... It’s my fault ... He poisoned you … but it was my fault ... Wait for me ... No ... you are bleeding ... Don’t leave me ..._

 

“Don’t leave ... me …” Athos whimpered.

“Hey, Athos, I am here. I won’t leave you.” Aramis soothed.

 

         Athos struggled to free himself.

 

_A white and black face turning into ashes before my eyes._

_Threat written in letters of blood._

_Don’t! Go away!_

 

“Go away!” Athos shouted suddenly, his mouth curling in a hateful grimace.

 

         Aramis flinched when the delirious man suddenly seized the collar of his shirt. His crazy darkened irises bore into the medic’s wide eyes. He wasn’t awake, Aramis was sure of it, but his strength was incredible and the desperate expression of his eyes were heartbreaking.

 

“Athos.” A hushed hoarse voice whispered.

 

         Aramis heard a rustle of sheets and saw, from the corner of his eyes, d’Artagnan fighting to leave his bed, stifling his whimpers. Athos froze at the sound of the familiar voice. He loosened his grip and let his hands slide down on Aramis’ chest where they stay spread as if trying to feel the heartbeat under the ribs. Aramis gasped and he swallowed convulsively. He lifted his hands to his throat where the collar of his shirt had left reddish prints.

 

_You came back, little brother._

_I am dead ... what a peaceful sensation! No, that’s impossible ... I can’t see you ..._

 

         D’Artagnan sat down clumsily behind Athos and laid his hands on his friend’s shoulders ...

 

_No I am wrong ... Coulon ... It’s you, you came back from hell to take me ... Let me go, damn you!_

 

         Suddenly, Athos shook. A wave of shivering seized his whole body and he struggled to free himself from his friend’s gentle touch. Aramis had laid his hands on his trembling fingers and gripped his wrists as soon as Athos began to fight.

 

“Let me go, damn you!” He shouted. “Ahhh!”

 

         His eyes widened when the unbearable pain in his back brought him back from his nightmare. He gasped, his breathing quickened, his heart beated faster and he took in a few shallow breaths. Aramis looked at d’Artagnan who had closed his eyes to take his own pain away.

         He opened them when he heard Athos’ erratic breathing and carefully inched a little closer to slid his arms around Athos’ torso and waist. Athos gasped again, unable to breathe properly. D’Artagnan leaned forward and hummed a soft melody in his ear. Aramis reached for the terrified man’s nape and brought their foreheads together, his other hand still keeping Athos’ fingers against his own chest.

 

“Breathe, Athos. Breathe with me. Feel my heartbeat, feel my breathing under your palm.” Aramis ordered.

 

 _Except that my heartbeat must be as fast as yours_. Aramis thought bitterly.

 

         In spite of the closeness of their faces, Athos didn’t leave Aramis’ eyes.

 

“Ara ... mis?” He stammered as his mind slowly recognised where he was.

“I am here, my friend.” Aramis smiled reassuringly. “And the warm blanket on your back is d’Artagnan.”

 

         Slowly, very slowly, Athos’ heartbeat slowed down. For Aramis it felt like hours. He had put his palm on Athos’ chest to make sure his brother was calming again. D’Artagnan’s body was literally wrapped around him. Aramis cupped Athos’ face and looked into his teary eyes.

 

“Hey, my friend, are you with us, now?” He asked in a soft tone.

 

         Athos nodded awkwardly and suddenly, all the weight of his terrifying nightmare seemed to crush his shoulders. He slumped against Aramis’ chest and burst into silent tears, sobbing convulsively against his friend’s shoulder who began to card his fingers through the sweaty hair. D’Artagnan kept his grip on his friend’s chest but freed his right hand to reach for Aramis’ arm. The medic was grateful to the young man who had seen his own turmoil and was now running his thumb back and forth on his shivering biceps. They stayed like that for what seemed hours, in a tight embrace, protecting their friend from each side, until Athos’ sobbing calmed down and his breathing proved to them that he had fallen asleep again.

         Aramis had his arms full of a softly snoring Athos and didn’t really know what to do. He nodded at d’Artagnan who gently released Athos’ waist. The gesture earned him a low moaning but Athos didn’t wake up.

 

“Go to sleep.” Aramis mouthed to d’Artagnan.

“But ....”    

 

         Aramis just frowned with a severe look. D’Artagnan nodded and carefully scrambled backward on the bed. He had to muster all his willpower in order not to show his pain, but Aramis had enough to do with Athos, he had to be a perfect patient.

 

“Alright?” Aramis asked, his eyebrows nearly touching.

“Fine.” D’Artagnan whispered and lied down on his mattress, a hand clapped on his hip.

“Fine. Stop using this word in my presence!” Aramis huffed. “Sleep. I will manage.”

 

_I wish I could stay like this the whole night, if it meant that you had a perfect restful sleep my friend, but my back won’t thank me for having you in my arms like this._

 

         Athos was a heavy warm weight against him he was loath to let go off. Nothing could happen to his friend here and it was so comforting to realise that, but they both needed to rest. Aramis in order to be ready to help and Athos in order to simply heal both physically and mentally.

 

“I could …” D’Artagnan noticed that Aramis hadn’t moved yet.

“Shh … Go to sleep.”

 

         Gently, Aramis lifted a hand behind Athos’ head and stabilising his back with his right hand he tried to make him lie on the bed. Athos moaned and Aramis became still.

 

“No …”

“Shh … It’s just me. You need to lie down.”

“No … please …”

 

         Aramis didn’t listen to the barely conscious plea and continued. Soon, Athos was lying in a foetal position on the bed. Aramis removed the cups from the stool and sat down on it, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. In the eyes of anyone else, Athos could have been deeply asleep, but Aramis knew him too well.

 

“You need to sleep, Athos.” He whispered. “For once, learn from him.” Aramis sighed looking at the already sleeping d’Artagnan.

 

         The answer didn’t come at once, but slowly, very slowly, Athos uncurled and tried to open his eyes. Aramis could only see a slit of bloodshot white and blurry green.

 

“Hello, hedgehog.” Aramis smiled fondly. “You know, it’s not time to wake up, it’s time to sleep.”

 

         Athos squeezed his eyes shut and shivered, the sound which came from his mouth at this moment, was too much a sob for Aramis’ liking.

 

         Aramis laid his hand on Athos’ shoulder, waiting patiently.

 

_Where am I? Of course d’Artagnan’s room. Ahh ... everything hurts …_

_Aramis is that you? Of course it is!_

_D’Artagnan … he must be here too, I heard him earlier. Or have I dreamed …?_

_My whole body is on fire._

_I feel like I have lost a swordfight against you, Aramis, and d’Artagnan and then that Porthos confused me with a Red Guard or with the sack of grain he uses for his training._

_My feet, my legs, my back … ah … my chest is so tight again … my throat is so dry …_

_When will it ever end? I need to make sure that my heart is not worse. I have to feel ..._

 

“Hurts …”

“Where? Your back?” Aramis cautiously asked not sure if his friend had ripped his stitches again.

 

         Without opening his eyes Athos reached for his chest and gripped the fabric of his shirt.

 

“Athos, what are you doing?” Aramis asked quietly wrapping his fingers around the tight fist.

“Mhhh …” Athos slurred and frantically pressed his hand against his chest.

 

         Aramis grabbed it and put it softly back onto the mattress not letting go of it.

 

“Athos, let me listen to your heart.”

 

         Aramis gently pushed Athos’ shoulder to have a better access to his chest. He put his ear on Athos’ ribcage and listened carefully. The rhythm was regular and had slowed down again. He straightened and Athos immediately resumed his foetal position.

 

_Please let me be alright, please … I want to be better. Please … I need to check on my own ..._

 

         Aramis felt his own heart hammering in his chest. He felt so alone, so helpless ... He laid his right hand on his friend’s shoulder. Athos suddenly reached for his own throat pressing his fingers to his pulse. Aramis took his hand again.

 

“Athos, stop that! You are fine. Are you with me?” Athos nodded sluggishly, gripping Aramis’ fingers and keeping their joined hands against his chest.

“Did it ... happen ... again …?” Athos asked with a sad and weak voice.

“What, my friend? What are you talking about?” Aramis whispered.

“Panic …?” Athos answered barely audible.

 

         Aramis sighed. What could he say?

 

“Yes …” He softly murmured. “Do you remember it?”

“It’s blurred … I am not sure.” Athos moaned.

“How do you feel now?”

 

         Athos didn’t answer but Aramis didn’t need it to read on his friend’s features all the pain he was experiencing.

 

“You don’t remember but you know… How?”

“Were we sword fighting for hours?”

“Er … no …” Aramis answered surprised, thinking that Athos was half asleep again.

“Did Porthos jump on my chest the whole day?”

“Sorry?” Aramis asked frowning.   

“You asked me how I felt. That’s how I feel, that was how I felt after my last panic attack, but why? Why those panic attacks, Aramis, tell me!” He finished in a cry, his voice so desperate that Aramis had to clench his jaw in order not to let his emotions show themselves all over his face.

“It’s normal. Your soul needs time to heal just like the wound on your back. Give it time my friend and don’t be ashamed when you feel those attacks. It will pass!”

 

         Aramis tightened his grip on his brother’s trembling fingers, then, he saw in the reflections of the dying candle, a lone tear escaping Athos’ eyelids. He caught it with his right thumb which he left on the pale cheek, ready to erase all these small tracks of his friend’s sorrow. Athos opened his eyes and looked into Aramis’. He blushed suddenly when his memory provided him with a few images and feelings of what had happened. He saw his friends wrapping their arms around him, he felt their warmth against him, he felt Aramis’ hand in his hair, he tasted the salted water on his lips, he felt the itch in his lungs as he tried to stop his sobbing, catching for air like a dying fish and he felt so ashamed … Aramis could see the blood leaving his cheeks as quickly as it had invaded them merely two seconds before.

 

“I’m sorry …”

“Athos, don’t be sorry, it’s alright. You need to sleep.”

“Easier said than … done, ... mis! Your medicine doesn’t work anymore.”

“I have given you less than before …” Aramis sighed.

“Why?”

 

         There was a slight tinge of reproach in Athos’ tone. Aramis tried to take his hand back but Athos didn’t let go, pulling on Aramis arm. The medic nearly lost his balance.

 

“I …” Athos began.

“Tell me…” Aramis asked bending over Athos’ ear.

“When I was sleeping … I had …”

“Nightmares?”

 

         Athos nodded, closed his eyes again and loosened his grip on Aramis’ fingers.

 

“When will it stop Aramis, when will it stop?”

 

         Aramis caught a new tear running down Athos’ cheek with his thumb and sighed.

 

“Tell me, Athos.”

“Stay.”

“Of course, I will stay. Tell me … What were these nightmares about? You know, nightmares are very familiar companions to me ...”

 

       Athos didn’t answer at once. Aramis waited again patiently …

 

“I saw him.”

“Who?”

“Coulon? I saw him. His face …” Athos shivered at the memory. “I saw his face … turning into ashes … What does it mean Aramis?”

“I … don’t know … I think …”

 

         The silence stretched only broken by Athos’ harsh breathing.

 

“I know what it means. He is dead and the past disappeared with him along with my last chance to see the real murderer punished.” Athos’ voice wobbled at the end of the sentence.

“We will find a way Athos, I think that it was this nightmare which caused your panic attack.”

“And I thought that …” He raised his head to look at d’Artagnan. “In my dream … He was … Coulon … he had poisoned him too and if … it would have been my fault …” Athos gulped. “I’m tired, so tired. I want to sleep, but each time I close my eyes I …” Athos moaned.

“Shhh, Athos, calm down.” Aramis soothed him running his thumb over his friend’s wet cheek.

“Why? What’s happening to my mind?”

“Your mind doesn’t understand what is happening to your body, Athos … You have been poisoned, you have been stabbed, stitched and stitched again, you don’t eat enough, you don’t drink enough, you don’t sleep enough, you spend all your time between four walls …”

“Aramis, I can’t …” Athos interrupted him.

“I know … you can’t do otherwise.” Aramis smiled softly. “And most of all, I spend all my time filling your body with sedative plants.”

 

         Athos couldn’t help but let his lips curl upward in a watery half smile which faded as soon as it appeared.

 

“Aramis, I want to sleep, I want it so badly.”

“Close your eyes, Athos, it’s the first step.”

 

         Athos did as Aramis said, he held his breath trying to fight against the tears which managed to fall again. Aramis gently ran his fingers on the shaggy hair and he was surprised to see a small smile appear again on Athos’ lips.

 

“Aramis … Why does everything always end with your hand in my hair?”

 

         Aramis nearly laughed out loud and took his hand back. Athos froze but didn’t say anything.

 

“You know, petting fluffy animals is very calming, Athos.”

 

         Athos huffed a small breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, then let the silence settle. The short whistle of a bat broke it from time to time and the flame of the candle, devouring the last inches of the wick, sizzled before dying completely. They could barely see each others' eyes in the dim light provided by the moon, but their eyes were locked anyway until Athos averted his gaze.

 

“But … could you …”

“I will, Athos, if it helps you to sleep, I will.” Aramis laughed, understanding what Athos wanted.

“Mmmh … what’s the matter?” A very slurred voice asked.

 

         D’Artagnan raised his head to look at Athos.

 

“Nothing, go to sleep, d’Artagnan.”

“If what I said and what happens here leaves this room …” Athos menaced.

“Shhh … Sleep… And move a little … My old back needs to rest …” Aramis said his eyes twinkling.

 

         Athos gave him more room, shuffling back onto the bed, and Aramis sat next to him, his shoulders against the wall. Athos immediately curled up against his hip and Aramis’ hand landed on his head again. Then after a few minutes of silence, he began to sing, softly, in a low hushed voice trembling with emotion.

 

_[¡Ay! linda amiga ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bod0vHmpP3c) _

_Que no vuelvo a verte_

_¡Cuerpo garrido_

_Que me llevas la muerte!_

 

_No hay amor sin pena_

_Pena sin dolor_

_Ni dolor tan agudo_

_Como el del amor_

 

_Levanté me madre_

_Al salir el sol,_

_Fui por los campos verdes_

_A buscar mi amor. **[*](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/29507094#chapter_76_endnotes)** _

 

“Don’t stop …” Athos mumbled with a desperate tone in his voice.

“I’m here Athos, sleep, shhh …” Aramis tried to soothe his friend.

“I can’t get rid of one thought …”

“Which one?” Aramis asked.

“I …” Athos felt his breathing becoming harsher and once again he had to struggle for air.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, beautiful beloved who I will never see again,  
> Exquisite body that brings me death.
> 
> No love without pain,  
> Nor pain without grief,  
> Nor pain so sharp as that of love.
> 
> Get me up, mother, when the sun rises.  
> I went throughout the green fields  
> Looking for my love.


	77. Which 'fine'?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to our dear Beth who is so patient and has helped us for months. xxx

⚔⚔

 

         Tréville slowly made his way back to his office. He felt numb, tired and with each step it took him to reach his office he felt a year older.

 

_Why did Aramis react so harshly?_

_Is it because I couldn’t do anything about Rochefort?_

_No, it has to be something else but I am too tired to see to it right now._

_Perhaps Aramis is worrying about his friend, for both of our patients._

_Ahh … I should rest, sleep!_

_Tomorrow I can find out about it, now is not the time, to ask, I would only wake the others and they need their rest._

 

         Tiredly, Tréville drew his left hand over his face, then he lit some candles in his dark office. Exhausted he made his way to his desk and dropped with a loud moan onto his chair. A moderate breeze filled his room from an open window and made the candlelight flicker. In the red and yellow light in which his office was now illuminated he could see shadows drawing dark patterns on the walls and the floor of his room. Bizarre figures that reminded him of Rochefort’s evil grinning face, the wide open eyes of O’Sullivan lying dead in his own vomit on the floor. The next one was the face of a fat man, which reminded him of the nobleman who died, collapsing on the floor in the throne hall. He shook his head to rid himself of these images but it didn’t help, instead he could see Coulon, his whole body twitching uncontrollably before it became limp and the man died in front of his eyes. He closed them, only to open them again and saw the palm of a hand clutching at something that looked like his chest. A shiver went down his spine.

 

_Athos could have died like them._

_Good grief this was all Rochefort’s doing and today_

_I couldn’t do anything about him._

_I betrayed myself, my values, my men …_

_Stop it … it doesn’t help you … to think like that._

 

         Angrily he drew his hand over his face again feeling exhausted and tired. The last days were taking their toll son his body.

 

_I am not a young man anymore._

_I should listen to the advice I gave to Athos earlier._

_I should rest and sleep._

_Tomorrow I will have to think how we can move on,_

_but now sleep will be the best thing I can do._

 

         He slowly stood up, fetched one candle and walked over to his bed. He set the candleholder on a small table near to his bed and paused. The second bed, which they had used for Porthos and later for Athos’ second surgery was gone. Porthos had helped him to carry it into d’Artagnan’s room. The strong man hadn’t spoken a word with him but he had seemed angry.

 

_Oh Porthos, I wish you could stop asking and searching for your father. It would be best if you think that he is dead, but I won’t lie to you … wait, didn’t Athos say that I should talk to Porthos? Is that why Aramis was so angry and harsh with me earlier …?_

_Of course … we are all stressed … and this situation is making  Porthos long for answers about his past even more than normally._

_Oh … sometimes I can be a fool … but what can I do … give it more time …_

_Probably the best I can do right now …_

 

         Tréville yawned loudly then he once again told himself:

 

_Try to rest and sleep._

 

         He stared at his own bed which in the past days had been occupied by Athos. They had taken some pillows and blankets over to d’Artagnan’s room, but the sheets his officer had slept in, were still lying on his bed.

 

_I should make my bed anew._

 

         Tréville went to a small closet, he opened it and brought out some new white linens. As a soldier, he was used to make his own bed and he had no problems to do it himself. He bent down over his bed and started to remove the old linens, which were a little wet from Athos’ sweat and probably tears. He paused as his eyes spotted some red lines and spots on the linen. Athos' dried blood. It was only a little, probably from the moment when Athos had ripped his stitches or from the bandage, with which Aramis had covered the wound after the second surgery, but it made him frown. For a moment he closed his eyes. He felt his hands and legs starting to tremble and he collapsed on the chair, which they had used when sitting with Athos. When did this turmoil for his Lieutenant start? It felt like an eternity. He covered his face with his hands and stayed in this position, his head slightly bowed. He felt some wetness on his palms and he knew that it was from his own tears running down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried for a long time, but suddenly it had gripped him. Angrily he wiped his tears away. Images crossed his inner eye, images of Athos lying in his bed, fighting another nightmare, screaming and moaning lying on the stretcher or during both his surgeries, struggling for each breath, struggling to stay alive, gripping his hand to make sure that he wasn’t alone. His face paler than the white linen, his eyes red and swollen filled with pain and tears.

 

_Rochefort has_ _him_ _nearly broken, has nearly stolen him away from me._

_Why is he still not mad with me?_

_Why does he accept that I didn’t kill Rochefort with my own hands the moment we found out that he was the mastermind behind the whole plot?_

 

         Again he shook his head and spoke to himself with a loud snort:

 

“Sometimes we have to sacrifice ourselves for a greater good. What greater good, Athos? I can’t see it. I can only see you suffering. I can only hope and pray that your soul will heal! That I will have you back! That you don’t end up once again drinking yourself in a stupor  to forget!”

 

         Tréville gathered himself and started to remove the drenched sheets from his bed, then he swiftly put on the fresh ones. The used ones ended up in a heap on the floor.

 

_I will not allow this, Athos!_

_Neither I or your brothers will allow this._

_You will heal and we will hunt Rochefort down._

_Not today, not tomorrow but we will!_

 

         Exhausted Tréville removed his boots and dropped onto his bed.

 

_Athos is a fighter … and he always has been … one day you will lead this regiment my son …_

 

         With these thoughts the Captain of the Musketeers drifted off into his sleep.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

 

**_D’Artagnan’s room_ **

 

         Athos tried to suppress another moan.

 

_No, I can’t tell you … it will make you even more sad. I can’t tell you that, for a single moment, I saw myself dying like Maurice Coulon. No, I don’t want to leave you with this horrible thought for the night. Enough that I have to deal with it._

 

“Athos … calm … breathe … tell me.”

“I’ll only wake the boy. Now is not the time. You are here …” Athos added.

“Athos?”

“Don’t stop … it will help me to sleep. I feel ... better …”

 

         Aramis could feel the tremors in his friend’s limbs against him.

 

“Tell me …”

 

_I can’t tell you Aramis … I can’t … not tonight ..._

 

“I will … if I’m ready I will …”

 

         Aramis slowly shifted down the bed until he was almost lying next to Athos, his friend’s head nestled against his chest. Then he started to hum softly in his ear to calm him moving his arm enough to keep his fingers in the matted curls, even if the position was rather uncomfortable. Athos closed his eyes, he felt Aramis’ soft touch on his head and pretended to sleep. His thoughts returned to the dead Coulon. His dark eyes staring at him, his dead mouth with the white foam around it screaming at him:

 

_“You are next and then I will take the boy! I will take your brother … another brother, another brother that you won’t be able to save!”_

 

         Now he remembered this voice, he remembered the exact words and it was so painful. Athos gasped for air. Aramis could feel his faster heartbeat.

 

“Stop pretending to sleep.” Aramis mumbled in Athos’ ear. “Tell me now the reason why you can’t sleep.”

 

         Athos sluggishly opened his eyes. The dark room didn’t make him feel any calmer. The silver light of the moon which was still low in the sky cast blueish shadows on the whitewashed walls. He shivered and wished that morning and daylight would come soon to wipe away those horrible ideas and pictures. He remained silent.

 

“Tell me. I can feel your whole body trembling again.” Aramis said a little too harshly.

 

         Athos breathed in deeply while he tried to regain control of his shaking limbs. His throat felt parched from the tears and from his efforts to breathe properly.

 

“It’s Coulon. I can’t get rid of the thought …” Athos paused fighting to calm his trembling voice.

“What thought?” Aramis asked now softer.

“That it could have been me ... lying there instead, dying of this horrible poison ... that had befallen my body ... Lying there in the most undignified way ... shaking uncontrollably ... gasping for air and dying with … with this unbearable pain ... in my chest.”

 

         Athos gulped and pressed his palm on his chest to reassure himself that he was better. Aramis reached for it and pulled it away again.

 

“Lying on the dirty garrison courtyard … and  … all of you are looking down at me … at my dead exposed body … staring into my dead eyes ...” Athos couldn’t hold his tears back any longer.

 

         He turned his face in the other direction in order to hide his sorrow and tried to escape Aramis’ embrace, but escaping Aramis’ arms wasn’t an option and he understood it at once, when he felt Aramis fingers tensing on his neck. Aramis felt as if he’d been hit by a horse hoof. He had experienced the very same thoughts after Savoy. Seeing himself lying dead in his own blood in the snow. He closed his eyes to get rid of his own nightmarish thoughts. Then he let his hand slowly slide down Athos’ neck to grip his shoulder and pull him in closer.

 

“And the worst of it ... is … is that Coulon is telling me ... that I will be next ... and then d’Artagnan.” He sobbed, more tears were running down his cheeks.

 

         Aramis sighed deeply not letting go of his friend. He raised his eyes towards the ceiling in an attempt to rein in his own emotions, then lowering his head again he whispered in Athos’ hair, making sure that the young Gascon wasn’t awake.

 

“You will be alright I promise. It is only a bad dream. Nothing of it is real, do you hear me!”

“When will it stop, Aramis?” Athos pleaded.

 

         Aramis felt his friend’s trembling hand reaching, for his, where it rested on his own galloping heart. He squeezed it softly.

 

“Athos!”

“Hmm …”

“You survived!”

“I nearly lost you … all of you.” Athos tried to search Aramis’ face in the darkness.

“And the other way around.” Aramis breathed out so quietly that Athos didn’t hear it, then a little louder he added: “Porthos would have never allowed that.” Aramis tried to joke.

“He saved me …” Athos gulped.

“Oh yes … he found out about the coffee. And he didn’t stop fighting like a bear so that you would survive.”

 

         Athos nodded and closed his teary eyes.

 

“He has … all of you have … all these past days …”

“And you Athos … you are fighting … that’s why your heart is still beating regularly in your chest … you didn’t abandon me or the others!”

 

         They both remained quiet for a moment, Aramis nearly thought that Athos had fallen asleep, but he broke the silence after several minutes.

 

“My heart …” He huffed angríly.

“What? Are you experiencing those chest pains again?"

“No … it’s the antidote … I detested ... the coffee … I nearly refused ... to drink it …” Athos slurred.

 

         He felt Aramis laughing quietly next to him. Confused he looked at him.

 

“What is it?”

“I doubt that the coffee did anything to cure you.”

“You are telling me this now!” Athos groaned out loud. “When did you find out about that?”

 

         Athos still had the bitter and disgusting taste of it in his mouth.

 

“No, I think it was you, your body, your will to live.” Aramis said in a serious tone. “Maurice Coulon’s words don’t mean anything. D’Artagnan is fine and you will be better in no time.”

 

         Athos huffed.

 

“It’s over, Athos! Now try to sleep. I am here. Close your eyes. Those horrible pictures will disappear, believe me, I know!”

 

_Why does he know? … Oh Savoy … of course … Thank you Aramis this helps me a lot._

 

         Athos obeyed Aramis’ order and closed his eyes again but, suddenly, he jumped and clapped a hand to his mouth.

 

“Hey, what is it?” Aramis asked trying to see in the darkness the expression of his friend.

 

         The blue shadows only showed him that Athos had squeezed his eyes shut and that his fingers were bruising his skin around his mouth. Aramis reached out to make him stop hurting himself, but Athos suddenly tried to escape his touch, his looks, his comfort. He propped himself onto his hands and tried to get up, hissing when his wound burnt. Aramis sat up and reached for him but Athos turned his head, breathing quickly.

 

“Athos, what is it? Tell me!”

 

         Athos just shook his head, his hand still firmly closed by his tense fingers.

 

“Talk to me, please!” Aramis pleaded.

 

         When a sigh came from the other bed, Athos agreed to come a little closer and opened his mouth, grimacing as if the words he was about to pronounce had a bitter taste and hurt his tongue.

 

_How can I describe this image? Why does it come now? I had forgotten about it … Why has it to come now?_

 

“In my dream … Coulon … his face … It suddenly contorted and …” He gritted his teeth, unable to continue.

“And it was replaced by another face?” Aramis tried.

“Y … yes? How do you know?”

“I told you … I know these nightmares.” Aramis murmured.

“I saw …” He didn’t finish his sentence but the look he sent in the direction of the other bed was meaningful enough. “He was … dead. Like Coulon … His features … My God!”

 

         Aramis opened his arms again.

 

“Come here.”

 

         This time, Athos didn’t hesitate. He slumped against his friend’s chest. He felt empty but he suddenly realised that it was in a good way. Talking to Aramis had washed his mind  and this time, he thought that at last, the sleep could take him.

 

“Thanks …” He slurred and then he finally drifted off to sleep.

 

_Thank God! See, you need to open up, to speak to me ... to us, in order to make your nightmares disappear. Fight Athos, you have come so far, you will manage the rest too. I will help you through this. We all will. You are not alone, my friend!_

 

         Aramis shifted nearer to Athos. His own tiredness caught up with him and he fell asleep next to his healing friend whose head was tucked under his own chin.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         The first thing Porthos was aware of, when dawn broke flooding his room with a pale violet and gold light, was the shrill voice of a blackbird perched on the windowsill. He reached for his pillow to bury his head underneath, determined to ignore both the rising sun and the irritating sound. The second thing he was aware of, was that, for the first time in days, he felt rested, relaxed and he didn’t even feel sore. He slowly removed the pillow from his head, rolled onto his back and began to disentangle himself from the crumpled sheets. The blackbird stopped its song, cocked its small shiny head and its round bright eye and watched the big man.

 

“What? Never seen a warrior?”

 

         The blackbird flapped his wings and resumed its concert. Porthos smiled and let his mind slowly wake up. Now that he had opened up to Aramis, now that Athos seemed better, he felt at peace … For now, he had stored his supposed father in a small corner of his brain where he could retrieve it later ... His stomach growled and he climbed down the bed, his legs a little numb from the long sleep, he headed to the table where he plunged his head into a basin full of rather tepid water. He shook his dripping hair, scrubbed at it with a towel and literally jumped into his clothes. On his shelf, wrapped in linen, a loaf of bread was waiting for him and he judged that for now, it was enough to appease his hunger. His priority was to check on his friends.

 

         He ate his slice of bread while walking towards d’Artagnan’s room. He quickly swallowed, with some difficulty, the stale crumb and wished he had something to drink. He stopped behind the door, his heart missing a beat when he realised that maybe everything wasn’t as perfect as the bright light of the morning and his restful sleep had made him think. He drew in a deep breathe and carefully turned the knob.

 

         The room was still dim because of the curtains but the sight which welcomed him made him both cheerful and anxious. _Strange feeling_ , he thought. Aramis and Athos literally wrapped around each other, was indeed a touching tableau, but it meant that Athos had needed his friend’s comfort and, as he wasn’t the most tactile of men, it meant that the need was born from a very upsetting situation. _Nightmare or panic attack … probably both … I’m so sorry my friend_ , Porthos deduced.

   

         He walked quietly into the room and watched the scene. Aramis was sprawled on his back across the bed, snoring softly, his mouth open. His left hand was tangled in Athos’ hair and his other arm was dangling over the side of the narrow bed. Athos’ head was on Aramis stomach and his left hand fisted in the medic’s shirt, he was drooling on his right hand where his cheek rested.   

   

         Porthos uttered a soft chuckle and he was surprised to hear a sound echoing his. He turned his gaze towards d’Artagnan who was watching the scene with the same fondness.

 

“Hey? How do you feel this morning?” Porthos asked kneeling between the two beds.

“I could turn the question around. Yesterday, you were …”

“I am fine now.” He answered evasively.

“Really? Which ‘fine’? D’Artagnan asked with a wink.

“How is Athos?” Porthos whispered, avoiding a question he couldn’t really answer.

“He is fine.” A muffled hoarse voice answered, immediately followed by a low chuckle.

“Will you dare to repeat that?” Aramis mumbled to a barely awake Athos who was trying to sit up with great difficulty. “Something urgent to do?” Aramis asked with a tinge of humour in his sleepy voice, gripping Athos’ shoulder to make him stay where he was.

“Since you ask,” Athos drawled. “Yes, something urgent to do.”

“Oh!” Aramis understood letting go of his friend, and they all laughed, each of them in a different tone, from a soft snort to a booming laugh.

 

         Tréville who had just left his office for morning muster, paused in front of d’Artagnan’s room. Irritatedly, he scraped with his hand over his chin and stayed where he was because of the loud noise. It took him a while to figure out that his four _Inséparables_ were laughing. A sound he hadn’t heard from them in a while. His serious face changed into a bright smile which drew wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

 

 _Finally … it was about time,_ he sighed.

 

         Without disturbing them, he descended the stairs into the courtyard, where his other men were already waiting. His smile stayed on his lips as he gave the first orders of the day. His thoughts drifted to the plans he had made during the sleepless night he had had, how to repair his burned garrison and after that how to fight and punish Rochefort.

 

_Be careful Rochefort … we will get you … it is only a matter of time!_

 

         Absent-mindedly, he looked at a black cat sitting on the favourite bench of the four _Inséparables_ with a grey squirming mouse in its mouth.

 

 _You look like a grumpy cat, Monsieur le félin, but I am not afraid, you know, I am used to this kind of mesmerising stare_.

 

         Tréville laughed inwardly when for a brief moment the beast reminded him of a certain grumpy Lieutenant and he had to laugh out loud. Stoically, the cat glared at him with its emerald green eyes but made no intention of moving away.

         Life was slowly returning to normal, the light was over their head again after so many days in the dark. He looked up at the sky, his smile matching the blinding light of the rising sun.         

 

**To be continued ...**


	78. Not dead!

⚔⚔

 

**_Epilogue_ **

 

         The next days passed for Athos in a blurry haze. He was spending most of the time sleeping, because his body still needed to rest. His three brothers took turns to sit with him. From time to time, they woke him up and helped him with food, drink and other necessary duties. Athos expressed no wish to return to his own room, instead he seemed to be content to stay with d’Artagnan in his lodgings. Aramis had expected nothing less: on the one hand Athos wanted to make sure that his little brother was getting better, on the other hand he still fought with his thoughts how miserable he was lying in his own room and fighting this horrible poison. Aramis was even convinced that Athos feared that nightmares would haunt him as soon as he returned.

         The more he improved, the more the swordsman returned to his brooding self, ignoring questions, pretending to sleep and longing for wine or ale to drink instead of water. After the third day Athos was still occupying d’Artagnan’s quarters, while the young Gascon was busy giving directions in the courtyard on how to rebuild the infirmary. Aramis had had enough with Athos’ behaviour, so he decided to intervene. After Tréville relieved him from taking care of Athos, he decided to speak with Porthos and d’Artagnan.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Wednesday, 11th June, late morning_ **

 

“We need to talk!” Aramis stated firmly to Porthos and d’Artagnan, while they were pausing at their usual table in the courtyard.

 

         D’Artagnan had been busy giving instructions to other Musketeers on how to rebuild the infirmary. He was still limping and his hip was hurting him, but lying in his own bed didn’t help him. The young man longed to get better and helping to rebuild their two buildings distracted him from his wound. Exhausted he dropped onto the bench and wiped his sweating face. Porthos handed him a cup filled with water, he just had saddled his and Aramis’ horses ready to leave for their service as palace guard that morning.

 

“What’s wrong?” D’Artagnan asked.

“It’s Athos … he needs to return to his own room. He has spent long enough in yours.” Aramis huffed.

“Who’s with him right now?” Porthos asked worriedly.

“The Captain. He wanted to check on him, he says he can do his paperwork in d’Artagnan’s room as well, so that I can come with you to the palace, Porthos.”

“Good.” Porthos nodded contentedly, he needed to know that Athos wasn’t alone.

“He can stay as long as he wants, perhaps it is exactly what he needs right now.” D’Artagnan offered in reply to Aramis first statement. “Remember what the Captain ordered: ‘ _No morning muster for Athos at least for a week and after that I will decide further. He needs to rest, sleep, drink and eat and most of all we need to comfort him. I want to see him heal properly._ ’  Athos is still not fit for duty, so I think it is better if he isn’t alone right now.”

“When he returns to his own room, it doesn’t mean that we will leave him alone!” Aramis sighed.

“He hasn’t asked yet to return to it!” Porthos stated. “Aramis, I agree with d’Artagnan, let him stay in his room as long as he wishes. Our young Gascon is doing him good.” He slapped approvingly on d’Artagnan’s shoulder.

“Porthos it’s time for Athos to heal!” Aramis answered glaring at him.

“Oh, he is healing. He’s eating more, sleeping more and he even asked me for some wine or ale yesterday evening.” Porthos explained.

“He pretends to sleep and by asking for wine he’s trying  to drown his own sorrows. We have to be careful that he doesn’t end up in some shady taverns again and drinking himself into oblivion. He is not talking to us about his feelings, what is going through his mind.”

“So what, Aramis, he is back to his brooding self. He wasn’t that talkative and showed his feelings rarely, before he was poisoned,  what are you implying?” Porthos frowned. “That he is not healing properly,  that he is fooling us?  He hasn’t eaten his food backwards lately.” He added not sure of the suitability of his joke. “So I think he is improving and he is getting stronger each day.”

“His body is healing Porthos, but what is worrying me is the state of his soul. He hasn’t asked if he can go outside, to breathe in some fresh air. He is not eager to leave d’Artagnan’s room at all. When I ask him what’s going on in his mind he pretends to be tired or that he is sleeping, but I know him, his emotions are hurting him. He will be haunted by other nightmares, if we don’t do something soon.”

 

_I know because I felt the same after Savoy … How can I convince you, Porthos …_

 

“So you think that in his room he will be more talkative? I doubt that!” Porthos snorted loud.

“No, but it will help him to deal with his own fears.” Aramis answered angrily.

“Stop agitating each other, both of you!” D’Artagnan felt the tension building up between his two friends and they were ready to start a fight.

 

         They were staring at each other like two rabid dogs, their eyes flashing, holding their breath. He could understand Porthos wanting to protect his older brother and he could understand Aramis wishing the same, but thought that pushing the swordsman would help him to deal with his inner wounds more openly and maybe Aramis was right.

         Worriedly he had observed Athos in the past days, he knew that his older brother was most of the time pretending that he was sleeping, when instead he was wide awake, especially during the night and it scared him that Athos was pretending that everything was back to normal, _fine_ as he stated it, but the worst was that he barely talked with him. He said nothing after he had told him, how the rebuilding was coming on, nothing as he told him more stories of his childhood, nothing as he told him that Roger was missing him. Instead he only observed a blank sad stare in his green eyes. Athos seemed to be lost.

 

“I think it is worth a try, we’ve already prepared his own quarters, in order to make him feel more at home in his room. We did that several days ago.” D’Artagnan carefully said.

“Oh, that was your big secret that day?” Aramis suddenly realised. He had completely forgotten to ask Porthos about it. So many things had happened in between.

“Yes, he can always come back to my room, if we notice that he doesn’t feel comfortable back in his. I mean it must remind him of his miserable state as he was fighting the horrible poison that had gripped his whole body and that day when O’Sullivan entered it without permission and nearly killed him with laudanum.” D’Artagnan shuddered at the thought. “Perhaps that’s the reason why he prefers to stay with me. Anyway, Aramis you are right, it is not like him to seek company for so long.” D’Artagnan added.

“Alright, he is brooding about something!” Porthos agreed. “Let’s take him to his room later Aramis. I disagree that he will heal better in his own room, but we have to do something and we need to make him talk to us. You are right, I will watch him closely if he tries to go to a tavern, I will follow him, no matter what!” Porthos growled. “Come, Aramis, right now Tréville is with him. We’ll be late for palace guard, besides I want to observe what Rochefort is doing right now. When we return this afternoon, I will help you to take him back.” Porthos added then he stood up. His leg was finally healed. Aramis followed him, deep in thought thinking about how to get Athos back into his room. He needed a trick, but what …

 

_How can I make you better, my friend? What can I do to make you start talking? What do you need to come back to us?_

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Wednesday afternoon_ **

 

         Athos heard the footsteps on the boards of the balcony. Aramis’ footsteps … the way he walked he was up to something, behind him Porthos’ footsteps -in a much slower pace- as if the steps of the streetfighter wanted to hold back Aramis zest for action. Soon they would enter d’Artagnan’s room, to look after him, to check him over, to urge him to eat and drink ... and to talk with them.

 

_About what … that I’m still an emotional burden for them. That my nightmares are back … I don’t want to talk about it over and over again. I don’t want to be reminded of the past days. I 'd hoped my body would be better by now …   _

 

         He was alone in d’Artagnan’s room. Tréville had been called away and he had heard d’Artagnan earlier in the courtyard yelling some instructions to Pierre and Jacques. As the door opened a tiny crack, Athos hurried to close his eyes and pretend to sleep, ignoring the fact that he was hungry. He could hear Porthos pausing on the threshold while Aramis faster steps drew nearer to his bed. The medic sat down on the stool next to his head. As his friend bent over him, Athos could feel his rapid breathing on his face from his fast walk into the room. He knew exactly that he was staring at him angrily, Aramis knew him too well, he knew that he was not sleeping.    

 

“Well, well, well. How is our patient today?” Aramis began in his most professional tone.

 

         He laid his hand on Athos’ forehead.

 

“Mhhhh. Cold.”

“Is it a good sign, ‘Mis?” Porthos asked in a strange voice.

“Hmmm … I’m not sure. Help me to roll him onto his belly.”

 

         Athos felt manhandled by four hands, one of them lingered a little too long on his side where he felt fingers tickling him. He managed to stay stoic but it was a hard task.

 

“Let’s examine this wound … Oh!” Aramis exclaimed after he had removed the bandage around Athos’ back with his cold fingers.

“What? Aramis, what is it?” Porthos asked.

 

_Porthos seems really anxious, this time. God, don’t tell me something is wrong._

 

“Mmmmh! You are right Aramis.” A very serious Porthos assessed.

 

_Wait, what? Right about what?_

 

“We need to check his heart! Help me Porthos. Quickly! I hope he’s not having a heart attack!” Aramis exclaimed.

 

         Again, Athos felt manhandled, and this time, a pair of hands seized him under the armpits, and deft fingers took advantage of the position to tickle him again.

 

_No, if it were so serious, they wouldn't do that. My God, won’t anyone come here and rescue me. D’Artagnan, why aren’t you with me when I need help?_

 

         The bed dipped when Porthos sat down next to him and at the same time, he smelled Aramis’ rose perfumed hair, just under his nose, as the medic laid his head on his chest. Athos held his breath.

 

“ My God … Nothing!”

“What do you mean by that?” Porthos asked very seriously.

“Nothing. I … I can’t hear ... anything. Look, his skin is as pale as the linens.” Aramis said in a theatrical tone.

“No heartbeat at all?!” Porthos exclaimed.

“No, he has no heart.” Aramis stated with a sad voice.

“Well … Aramis … This is nothing new, but what does it mean?” Porthos asked having more and more difficulty in stifling his giggles.

“I think he is dead!” Aramis shouted over to Porthos in a very sinister tone.

 

         Athos squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he tried to evade the loud noise hanging in his ears. To his great disappointment, his stomach betrayed him with a low growl.

 

“Not dead, then.” Aramis laughed and stroked Athos’ thick hair.

 

         As he didn’t intend to stop staring at him, Athos tiredly opened his eyes. With his famous glare, he locked eyes with the marksman and mumbled.

 

“Go away!”

 

         Aramis ignored him and Athos turned his head searching for some help from Porthos.

 

“You are right, Aramis, dead people can’t speak.” Porthos said.

“Help me, Porthos, there is an intruder in my room. I want to sleep. I am tired.”

“A dead man can’t complain either. So, he’s obviously not dead.” Aramis completed.

 

         Porthos sighed as he had to endure Athos’ pleading look, that made him feel guilty that Aramis thought they should take him back to his room. Slowly he bent down to him and pressed his shoulder.

 

“Nahh ..., you are right, he can’t be dead. His eyes are open and his belly is churning. He is moreover hungry … and grumpy.” He grinned.

“Stop talking like I’m not here. Leave me alone and close the door. I need to sleep …”

“Hedgehogs don’t hibernate in spring, my dear Comte, so stop sticking your quills! It’s time to come back to life again.”

“Tréville ordered me to rest …”

“Yes, to rest, but not to …” Aramis was looking for the correct words.

“To play dead?” Porthos helped.

“I am sure he didn’t mean to hide in d’Artagnan’s room for days. You need fresh air … sun and to be honest some water and soap would be good too. You stink!” Aramis emphasised.

 

         With these words Aramis pulled off the blanket where Athos had wrapped himself  still seeking its warmth.

 

“Hey!” Athos complained indignant. “I am cold!”

“Come, in a few minutes you won’t be cold anymore, promised.” Aramis winked.

 

         Porthos searched for Athos’ trousers and boots and before the still tired swordsman could protest they had helped him into his clothes and pulled him onto his feet.

 

“And now?” Athos had given up protesting.

“Now, I will carry you to the bathing room!” Porthos rubbed his hands. “How do you prefer it, stretcher or in my arms.” He still laughed as Athos, in a blink of an eye, grabbed his cushion and threw it in Porthos’ face.

“I warn you …”

“I can prepare the patient, Aramis!” Porthos grinned as he readied his right fist.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, he can walk with us.” Aramis looked in Athos’ face.

 

         He was still unsteady on his feet and as much as they both had enjoyed the banter, he knew that Athos’ weak body was still not up to standing that long on his own.

 

“Move!” He ordered and pushed him to the door.

 

         Reluctantly, Athos followed Aramis’ words, glad that he suddenly felt Porthos next to him, supporting him, as he started to walk on his still wobbling feet.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“D’Artagnan?”

“Constance, what are you doing here?”

 

         The young Musketeer limped slowly over to the beautiful young woman who was standing a little lost under the archway which led into the courtyard of the garrison. She wore a red dress and in her hands she was holding two baskets covered by thin cloths.

 

“I’ve heard about the fire and that you are rebuilding the destroyed parts of the garrison and I wanted to help somehow. I’ve made some refreshments for all of you.” She handed him one of the baskets and looked shyly at his hip.

“Thank you very much!” D’Artagnan smiled at her and lifted the cloth to discover some fresh made bread rolls, cheese and some sausages, vegetables and fruits. “This looks delicious. I will hide it from Porthos … otherwise …” He laughed.

“I know what you mean but please, it’s for all of you.” She looked into his dark eyes.

“What’s in the other basket, more food?” He asked curiously.

 

         He wasn’t sure, but he could swear that the cloth had just moved a little. She smiled mysteriously and then looked up.

 

“I was worried about you … I’ve heard that you were injured. How are you?”

“Who told you?”

“Doctor Lemay.”

“I’m much better, it is only a small cut and the stitches are healing properly. No need to worry.” He smiled at her.

“I am glad to hear that! How is Athos?”

“Oh … much better, Aramis thinks that he can return to light duty next week, but Tréville wants to consult Lemay again in a few days time, he’s resting right now.”

“Please, wish him all the best.”

“So, what’s in this basket, is that a trick, the cloth on it is moving.”

“Oh, this is for you!”

 

         Constance pressed the basket into his hands. Our neighbours have given me one and I thought it is the perfect present for the garrison. I have to run. Sorry! The Queen is waiting for me.” She smiled at him again, then she turned around and left d’Artagnan alone with the mysterious present . Curiously d’Artagnan set the basket on the floor and removed the small sheet. Two dark brown eyes stared at him. Next to the little animal Constance had left a paper.

 

_Your new watchdog!_

 

“Waff … waff!” A little black dog protested that he wanted to leave the basket. D’Artagnan gasped and pulled him softly in his arms, he pressed the small bundle against his shirt and stroked it softly.

“Hey what a fierce watchdog you are.” He laughed out loud.

 

         Then he felt something wet on his shirt.

 

“No, no, no …” He shouted and held the young dog in the air. “I don’t believe …”

“D’Artagnan!” Tréville barked at him.

 

         Startled, he let the small dog drop onto the floor. “What are you doing there! Stop daydreaming … we need to finish the next step …”

 

“I am coming, Captain!”

 

         D’Artagnan looked around but the small dog had already run away. Disturbed by the fall he had sought refuge in a dark corner in the garrison’s walls.

 

_Damn … I need to find him or her? I couldn’t check. Constance will be mad with me, if I can’t find the dog. Ha! A watchdog … this woman’s humour …_

   

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         When they arrived at the door of the bathroom, Athos was breathless, a little dizzy from the effort he had just made to try to walk on his own, as often as possible pushing away the helping hands of his two friends who had been exchanging, sometimes amusing  sometimes worried glances during the whole trip. Porthos managed to grip Athos’ elbow for the last feet to the bathroom because the man was at risk of kissing the floor with each step. He let go of Athos’ elbow to open the door, which welcomed them with a cloud of perfumed steam, and Aramis took over and led Athos to a bench next to the gigantic fireplace. When he intended to lift Athos’ shirt over his head, the latter gripped his wrist and glanced at him with a severe look.

 

“I can manage on my own.” He said abruptly.

“Show me.” Aramis replied crossing his arms on his chest in a defiant stance, his lips curling upward mockingly.

 

         Athos’ forehead was glistening in the light of the flames, his features were drawn from the efforts and he soon began to grimace forcefully as the movement of lifting his arms pulled on the still sensitive wound on his back.

 

“Alright, help me.” He grumbled without looking up at Aramis.

“Please! Repeat after me, _help me, Aramis, please_.” Aramis teased as he began to lift the shirt carefully.

 

         As soon as Athos was bare chested, Aramis carefully removed the bandage, ignoring the quiet hissing of his patient, then he reached for Athos’ belt.

 

“Aramis! Stop that! Leave the room.”

“Leave the room, _please._ You were grumpy and withdrawn before being sick, now you are impolite.” Aramis smiled maliciously his hands on his hips.

“Aramis, go away, now!” Athos shouted hardly unable to hide his laughter.

“At your orders, my Lord.” Aramis answered in an affected tone, then he bowed before him. “Shout if you need help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Aramis!” Athos warned ready to throw him the big wooden ladle which was used to draw water.

“It’s confirmed, you have no heart, Athos!” Porthos told in a very serious tone.

 

         Aramis left the room, laughing out loud followed by Porthos. Athos heard the sound of his friends’ footsteps decreasing as they walked away. Soon, the only noises in the room were the crackling of the fire and the delicate song of a cricket which had probably decided that the bathroom was an interesting place to visit. Athos stood up from the bench and took off his boots and the rest of his clothes.

 

“You are a fool, Athos.” He said out loud to himself, carefully climbing onto a stool placed  next to the big wooden tub, lifting his right leg and holding his breath.

 

         Finally, he lowered himself into the warm water, sighing contentedly. He let his head fall back and looked at the dark ceiling, closing his eyes in pure delight. The water was making tiny waves which were breaking on the sheet covering the tub. This quiet song made him sleepy and he shook himself in order not to slumber. Suddenly he became aware of the silence, of his loneliness, of his weakness. He had to admit it, he was still weak … and he was so used to company that he couldn’t help but long for it.

 

_You are stupid, you are not a child, you are a soldier, you don’t fear loneliness._

 

         He took the soap from the table and began to make it foam on his skin. A herbal scent flooded the room and Athos breathed in deeply to enjoy it. For the first time in days he felt really relaxed and … clean! He raised his right hand to wash his hair but winced as it pulled again on his wound.

 

“You will manage, you must manage!” He growled angrily.

 

         He jumped as he heard a mysterious creaking coming from the direction of the door. He held his breath, listening carefully. As the silence settled again, only broken by the sounds of the sloshing water, the crackling fire and the irritating cricket, Athos resumed his attempt to wash his hair. Again, the pain made him lower his right arm while his left fist hit the water angrily.

 

         A new creaking noise drew his attention but he didn’t linger on it, instead, he tried again to wash his hair, but the pain made him emit a low cry. He breathed through the pain and balled his hands into tight fists. A third time, the floor creaked. Athos froze, raised his head looking at the door. The fire was slowly dying and he couldn’t see clearly through the steam which was filling the room, like it did on foggy nights down at the _Seine_ where one could hardly see their own hand. The door seemed so far away, almost disappearing into darkness. He held his breath and listened carefully again, he heard a rustle against the wood and he straightened in his bath, making the water slosh a little more. He realised that he wasn’t alone anymore ...

 

**_To be continued …_ **


	79. A Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update after such a cruel cliffhanger. We hope that you will enjoy this chapter. Thank you Beth and Helen for your help. Thank you all for your lovely comments and ♥.  
> xxx

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“Alright, Aramis, come in. I need your help!” Athos shouted dryly.

He heard a meaningful cough coming from the other side of the door.

 

“Aramis, I need your help … _ please _ !” He repeated, emphasising the word  _ please. _

 

Immediately, the door opened and an eager Aramis rushed to his side, and without a word, he took some water with the ladle and poured it onto Athos’ head. He began to wash the tangled hair then he rinsed it carefully, massaging his friend’s scalp with his long deft fingers.

 

“Don’t be moody, Athos. You improved a lot, you will be perfectly fit in no time. Now come on, leave this tepid broth and let’s take you back to a comfortable bed.”

 

         Aramis helped him to dress and Athos silenced his pride with the utmost resignation, a terrifying glare and a big sigh. He rolled his eyes when he noticed that Porthos was leaning against the doorframe, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest and a large grin gracing his features.

 

“Ready?” The big man asked cheerfully.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Athos mumbled, reluctant to leave the warm and perfumed room.

“So, let’s go, my Lord.” Aramis laughed.

 

         Athos braced himself to face the efforts he would have to bring in order to go upstairs and sighed. The air was now cooler in the courtyard and it brought the fragrance of the lime tree and the honeysuckle. Athos breathed in deeply enjoying the slightly dizzying perfume. The martins were now very high in the sky and barely audible, preparing themselves for a night on their bed of clouds and winds.

         Porthos had a strong grip on his right elbow and Aramis had linked his arm with Athos’ on the other side. Of course, Athos had tried to walk on his own, but Porthos had emitted a severe  _ tututut _ , so he had decided to stay compliant. After all, he felt a little numb from the bath and longed for a good sleep in his - well, not really his - bed, but a bed anyway. He was surprised when he noticed that their paces had led them, not towards the stairs, as expected, but near his own room. Worriedly, he looked at Aramis with an expression almost of panic, but Aramis just shrugged and winked at him fondly.         

 

“Wh …?”

“Shh ...” Porthos silenced him.

Athos stopped and slumped a little.

“I am not sure … I can … I am not ready … I”

“Hey! You will be fine. Come on!” Porthos encouraged him.

 

         Slowly, Athos straightened and tried to resign himself.

 

_ They are right! I can’t stay forever in d’Artagnan’s room. Who is the older brother him or me? No, I have to be strong, I am much better now and I have to stop fearing my nightmares … _

 

         The mere thought of these horrible dreams made him shiver.

 

“Hey, you are back?” A hushed voice said from the darkness.

 

         Athos looked up and squinted a little to discern d’Artagnan’s features in the shadow.

 

“D’Artagnan, why are you looking at me with such a silly grin?” He grumbled.

 

D’Artagnan’s smile fell at once and he looked at Aramis then at Porthos seeking support.

 

“Don’t worry, boy. He looks like a grumpy old man but inside he is as sweet as a pot of honey.”  Porthos smiled gently.

“What?” Athos exclaimed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Athos, I am not scared. Admit it, you are sentimental, but you hide it very well. Now, let the boy …”

“I am not a boy, Porthos!”        

“Let the boy show you his surprise now!” Porthos continued ignoring d’Artagnan and pushing Athos towards the door.

“Close your eyes.” D’Artagnan said his large smile back on his lips.

“D’Artagnan, are you serious? I am not a child.” Athos replied dryly.

“Pleeease.” D’Artagnan insisted in a very childish tone.

“You are a child d’Artagnan.” Athos answered, closing his eyes reluctantly.

 

         He heard the door opening slowly and felt two pairs of hands pushing him through the threshold.

 

“Now, open your eyes.” Porthos whispered playfully in his ear.

 

         When he obeyed, the first thing he saw was d’Artagnan’s proud smile, his teeth shining in the light of the candles which had been lit all around the room. Then, he let his gaze wander around the small lodgings. He looked at the furniture which was polished enough to reflect the flickering light. He understood then where the smell of beeswax was coming from. He noticed the bed, freshly made and covered in a new plain but clean quilt, the windows clean and through which he could clearly see the blue sky above the roofs, he noticed that the dust had disappeared from the floor, from his shelves … His linens were perfectly folded, his glasses were, for the first time in years, very clean and transparent. He slowly approached the table he used as a dressing table and he inspected it. Nothing was missing, but everything was clean, ordered. His chest tightened as he noticed that actually  something had disappeared, but raising his eyes, he found the small bundle of dry blue tiny flowers tied to the frame of the broken mirror with a thin string.

         Athos clenched his jaw. He could feel the anxious looks on his back. His friends had held their breath, waiting for him to say something, to react in a way or another, but he just couldn’t. His vision blurred and a lump formed in his throat. He felt the sudden need to be alone, to retreat into his own room as well as into his own mind. The kindness, care and love his brothers had shown him was suddenly too much for him. He knew he should have thanked d’Artagnan, his idea was so kind, but he couldn’t. He feared that opening his mouth would mean opening the dams that were blocking his emotions.

         A low hushed voice broke the awkward silence … Porthos.

 

“It’s the moment when a _ thank you, d’Artagnan _ , would be welcome.”   

 

_ Please Porthos, don’t ask me anything. I don’t even know why I feel like that, don’t ask me to talk. _

 

         The hesitant quivering voice of d’Artagnan made him shiver.

 

“Anyway, you’re welcome, Athos.”

 

         The young man’s attempt at humour failed because his voice betrayed him and the heavy silence settled again in the room. Athos didn’t turn around as he said in a broken voice:

 

“I need … to be alone.”

“But …” D’Artagnan began.

“Shh … come on d’Artagnan, he will be fine.” Aramis reassured him.

“I thought … he would …” D’Artagnan stammered, his voice more and more unsteady.

“He is.” Porthos explained. “But to express his gratitude would mean using words and he still has to learn how to speak. Give him time.”

 

         When Aramis saw Athos’ shoulders slumping, when he saw that the man had raised his hands to his face, he signaled to Porthos, with a meaningful nudge, that it was time to leave the room and give their friend some time on his own to gather himself again. Athos heard the soft click of the door closing behind his three brothers and he released the breath he had held with so much difficulty.

 

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         Outside, d’Artagnan rushed towards the courtyard and stopped abruptly, frustratingly kicking a stone.

 

“Woah! Calm down!” Porthos said as he approached him.

“He is angry.”

“No he isn’t.” Aramis intervened. “He is elated.”

“Oh! So I fear the day when he is angry.” D’Artagnan replied with cynicism in his voice turning around to face his friends, his eyes blazing. “I should have known it, we invaded his privacy. It was a mistake.”

 

         His voice broke at the end of his sentence and his eyes were glistening as if he couldn’t hold his tears like a frustrated child. Aramis carefully approached him and laying both his hands on the young man’s shoulders, he looked into his wide dark eyes.

 

“Do you trust us?”

“Of course, but …” D’Artagnan interrupted him.

 

         Aramis raised his forefingers and put him on the young man’s lips to silence him. D’Artagnan swatted his hand away.

 

“He is delighted by your surprise. He is just unable to show it for now. Maybe tomorrow, or next week or next month, you will see, he will tell you how happy he is, in his own way … Just give him time, be patient. You still have to learn a little more about how to read his language.”

 

         D’Artagnan smiled shyly and nodded. Porthos clapped him loudly on the shoulder.

 

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On the other side of the door, Athos hadn’t moved, his hand on his mouth, fighting to hold back his tears. He had never been so emotional before … before everything … before the poison, before the stabbing.

 

_ I am weak. I must rebuild my walls. I can’t react like this every time I am sad or happy or angry! _

 

         He knew he should have shown his gratitude, but he just couldn’t and now, half of the tears he was trying not to shed were born from his shame of not being able to thank his younger brother properly, from the thought of the young man’s disappointment. He breathed in deeply and slowly began to disentangle himself from the blanket in which he was wrapped, shivering when the cold air hit his warm skin where his shirt was open. He took off his boots with less difficulty than expected. It was still early but he was so exhausted. Being alone again was a strange feeling but he knew he had to be brave … and he knew that it wasn’t for long anyway.

         At one time or another, during his rest, he knew that he would hear the sound of the door creaking open and soft steps on his floor. Not for a second would his brothers consider leaving him on his own for a whole night after having watched him for so long and after having been so close to lose him.

When he reclined in his bed, the feeling of the mattress covered in fresh perfumed sheets against his sore body was a bliss and it was like lying in a meadow. As he stared at the ceiling, pondering over what they had done for him, he felt overwhelmed by a strange mixture of anxiety and happiness. He felt the familiar lump forming in his throat and, alone in his room for the first time in days, he let his emotions break his weakened walls. The ceiling began to disappear when his vision blurred and, immobile on his mattress, his hands flat on the sheets, he let the salted water wash his numb mind.

         After what felt like hours, during which he simply lay unable to sleep, unable to move, he was startled by a small scratching sound coming from under his bed. He sat up and listened carefully. The noise came again so Athos slowly stood up, bare feet on the tiles and he looked around the room. A mouse? No, a mouse had tiny claws which couldn’t make this sound. Athos was about to go back to bed when he felt something wet and warm on his toes. He looked down and couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

 

“Who are you?” He asked to the small velvety muzzle which had appeared from under the bed.

 

Athos crouched down and the muzzle disappeared.

 

“Hey, little thing, come here.” He whispered, whistling softly.

 

         The black nose came again followed by a pair of dark big eyes. A pink tongue licked at Athos’ fingers before tiny sharp teeth began to nibble at his thumb.

 

“Very well. I don’t know how you ended in my room but since you are here don’t sleep on the floor and stop eating my feet.”

 

         Athos opened his hands, palms up, and the puppy carefully climbed on them. He returned to his bed, all sadness forgotten and he curled up with the tiny warm fluffy ball against his stomach.

 

“Listen to me, you impolite hairy intruder. Not a word to the others, agreed?”

 

         Athos brought the sheet up to cover his small secret. Soon, his eyes drooped and he let himself be carried away by a welcomed sleep, a soft smile on his lips.

 

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         Trying to distinguish reality from the world of dreams - it had been a dreamless sleep actually- was a hard task for Athos who felt numb from his restful nap. He was too hot, sweaty, his tongue felt thick. The first thing he noticed was that the light had decreased outside and that most of the candles were dying. Then he felt tiny little bites on the skin of his belly, he was tempted to hit the thing which was attacking him until he realised that it was his fluffy little friend. He lifted the sheet and discovered a very busy puppy, his large paws flat on the human cushion’s belly and his jaws working eagerly to destroy the fabric covering it, drooling abundantly.

 

“Stop!” Athos said in a severe tone.

 

         The dog obeyed and looked up at him with such sheepishness in his dark eyes that Athos smiled fondly. He stroked the silky fur and surprisingly enjoyed this activity a lot.

         A discreet knock at the door made him remember that his friends had promised to come back at the end of the afternoon so he sat up and replaced the sheet to hide the little intruder.

         The door slowly creaked open. Athos looked up, crossed his arms and waited patiently, trying to imagine whose face would appear first, but it was a green pot-bellied bottle containing a very tempting burgundy liquid which showed itself in the crack. He heard voices whispering behind the bottle.

 

“Porthos, he is sleeping, don’t wake him up.”

 

         This one was d’Artagnan’s hushed voice.

 

“Nah! He has slept enough!”

 

         Alright, so the hand holding the bottle was Porthos’ hand.

 

“Porthos, you are incorrigible … Perhaps, he isn’t alone.”

 

         Aramis falsely reproachful tone.

 

“Will you stop your comedy and come in, gentlemen?” Athos drawled.

 

         Porthos entered the room and his friends were so close that they stumbled into the room knocking the bottle from his hands. The big man lunged toward the flying object and, with a rather graceful movement for a man of his size, he managed to catch it just before it shattered onto the floor. He sighed loudly and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand to show his relief. D’Artagnan had something wrapped in brown paper in his hands and Aramis was carrying a basket emitting a smell which immediately awoke Athos’ taste buds. Sadly, not only Athos’ taste buds because the puppy began to creep under the sheet to find an exit. D’Artagnan frowned staring at the moving form under the thin fabric.

 

“You were right Aramis. He isn’t alone.” D’Artagnan mumbled.

“Wh …” Athos began.

“What?” Aramis asked surprised.

 

         Athos pulled on his blanket to hide his secret, but the secret squeaked loudly obviously not appreciating the sudden weight on its head along with the darkness which blinded it.

 

“You are not alone, Athos?” Aramis asked with a frown.

“No, I am not, since you are here.” Athos smiled.

“There is someone in your bed?” Porthos asked with a suspicious tone in his voice. “Are you hiding some pleasant company under your blanket?”

“Or something … oh you found Constance’s puppy!” D’Artagnan exclaimed, his hands on his hips.

“Mmh … Constance’s puppy? You could say it differently. Constance’s puppy found me.”

 

         At that moment, a small round head emerged from the sheets and rushed to lick Athos’ face, with high pitched little barks sounding like meows. The dog obviously enjoyed the activity and … surprisingly … Athos seemed to enjoy it too, carding his fingers through the long curly locks.

 

“Ugh!” Aramis exclaimed.

 

         Athos took the puppy in his hands and tried to escape the eager tongue.

 

“You are right, Aramis, this poor beast is trying to erase what remains of all the rose water you poured on me during these past weeks. A rather persistent scent, by the way. It must be a terrible chore for such a young animal.” Athos replied with a very serious expression.

“You are ungrateful, Athos, so ungrateful, you know that?” Aramis pouted, playing along with him.

 

Athos raised his eyes to look at him first, then at his other two friends, he froze, and his expression became suddenly somber. Then he lowered his gaze to look down at the young dog he had managed to calm down and which was now chewing at the sheet covering his knees. He scratched a point just behind the animal’s big ear and stayed silent. Porthos put the bottle on the table and came to sit down next to his friend.

 

“Hey, what is it Athos?” He asked laying a hand on his friend’s thigh.   

 

         Athos picked up the young animal to place it gently at his feet. The puppy seemed surprised to be deprived of his human cushion but he curled up in a ball and fell asleep at once. Athos lifted the sheet and stood up gingerly, he swayed slightly, then, when he felt that he was strong enough, he retrieved his boots and pulled them on.

 

“Athos, where are you going?” D’Artagnan asked worriedly.

“Athos, did I say something which … ?” Aramis began, truly panicked.

 

         He put down his basket onto the floor and reached for Athos who just lifted a hand in warning to stop him from intervening. The three friends exchanged worried looks and watched as Athos crossed his room, bent down to open his heavy trunk and rummaged to look for something at the bottom.

 

_ Athos, you are silly. How will you manage to straighten without losing your balance? Well, now, breathe deeply and … Oh, alright, you need help, you fool, admit it. _

 

“D’Artagnan?” Athos asked as he straightened, both hands on the edge of the chest to catch his breath.

 

         He smiled as the young man literally rushed to be at his side before Athos had pronounced the last letters of his name.

 

“Athos, are you alright?”

“Of course, I am, but I need help to retrieve these companions for Porthos’ gift.”

 

         D’Artagnan brought four bottles which he settled on the table. Aramis stood there,  unsure of what to do. Athos was now in the middle of the room, playing with the hem of his shirt like a shy child. He looked into Aramis’ dark eyes.

 

“You are right, I feel ungrateful. I owe you.” He turned towards d’Artagnan and approached him, looking into his eyes the same way he had looked into Aramis’ eyes. “D’Artagnan,” he said, laying a hand at the base of the young man’s neck in a rare gesture for such a reserved person. “What you did … it was … I was … I am so sorry I didn’t thank you properly. I was … I was …”

“Overwhelmed?” Porthos asked approaching them, gripping Athos’ shoulder.

 

         Athos nodded.

 

“Touched?” Aramis added, closing the circle by laying a hand on Porthos’ shoulder and the other on d’Artagnan’s back.

 

         Athos nodded again unable to speak, to express his gratitude and cursing himself inwardly for his inability.

 

“You’re welcome, Athos.” D’Artagnan whispered.

 

They stayed like that for a moment, linked together just by these soft touches of a hand on a shoulder, on a back, on a neck until Porthos broke the spell.

 

“Now, can we have a little discussion with these bottles, bread, cheese and other pleasures for our taste buds? I understand that we are invited!”

“Yes you are!” Athos answered with the brightest smile he could manage, a rare sight.

 

         They all settled around the table to share the first real meal they had together in weeks. Suddenly, they heard a timid whine and looked at the bed where a very frightened and trembling puppy tried to jump from the mattress. D’Artagnan stood up quickly to retrieve the poor beast and put it onto his new master’s lap.  They shared the food, exchanging anecdotes and memories, doing their best not to mention the ordeal of the past weeks. The dog began to fidget on Athos’ lap and d’Artagnan, who sat opposite to his mentor, seeing Athos’ discomfort, half stood up to see what was wrong. Suddenly, Athos took the small fluffy thing into his hands and kept it at arm’s length above the floor, perfectly understanding what the problem was and not knowing what to do about it. D’Artagnan took the puppy and hurried towards the door, cursing under his breath and followed by the laughter of his comrades.

 

“Not funny.” He grumbled before rushing outside with a dripping puppy.

 

He reappeared barely one minute later.

 

“All done.” He said sitting down again with a sigh after having settled their new mascot on a blanket near the hearth. “What were you talking about?”

“I was saying, that …” Athos said, before his expression became blank.

 

D’Artagnan frowned and noticed the same shadow on his friends’ faces.

 

“Athos was saying that it’s the first time we’ve been gathered like that, since …” Aramis began before being interrupted by Athos.

“Since that awful night when you asked me when I had met Rochefort for the first time.”

 

They all fell silent, pondering over what Athos had just said, mentally reliving what had happened.

 

“Mmh … these cherries are just perfect!” Porthos exclaimed trying to change the topic, but his friends were still silent and sad.

“Only you can be cheerful just because of cherries after mentioning what we went through.” Aramis chided.

“Alright. Aramis, what do you see, right now?”

“Where?”

“Just there, in front of you.”

“A big voracious giant with cherry juice in his beard.” Armis half smiled.

“Right. What do you see behind your back?” Porthos asked spitting two cherry pits into his hand.

“Porthos, what do you mean? If I don’t turn around, I can’t see anything.” Aramis answered, uncertain, looking at Athos and d’Artagnan who were staring at the whole scene without understanding. “I suppose that given the hour and the low light in the room, there is only darkness behind my back.”

“That’s my point. Behind your back there is darkness, in front of you, there is happiness, life and … there is also the most attractive man in this room.”

 

         Athos snorted and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyelids deepened drawing sun rays around his eyes. Aramis gripped Porthos’ forearm and exclaimed cheerfully with a bright smile:

 

“Porthos our new Plato. Let’s drink to our greedy philosopher.”

“With one of the biggest hearts I know.” Athos added quietly.

 

Porthos gripped his neck and squeezed affectionately while Aramis seized his wrist. Athos’ face was drawn and they all saw that the exhaustion was slowly taking hold of his whole body and mind. Porthos yawned loudly and with a slight exaggeration.

 

“Now, gentlemen, I think it’s time to sleep. Athos, you are lucky you know. Only three feet to reach your bed.”

 

Athos stood up carefully and gripping the back of his chair, he looked at them seriously.

 

“I don’t know how to thank you, my friends. I will find a way.”

“Hey, we emptied three of your best bottles, for me it’s a good enough way to thank us.” Porthos laughed.

“And you thanked us by being better.” D’Artagnan added with a soft smile, his voice hushed by emotion.

 

         Aramis just took his elbow and led him to the bed, Athos didn’t try to resist and curled on his mattress, his back towards the room. Barely five minutes later, he was asleep, his fingers twitching restlessly like the paws of a dreaming cat.

 

“Where is that damn dog?” D’Artagnan suddenly exclaimed.

 

         He crouched down and, suppressing a wince as the movement pulled on his still fresh scar, he began to crawl all around the room in order to find the puppy. He found it in a corner of the room, comfortably asleep on a shirt which had slipped from the chest when they had looked for the bottles. D’Artagnan gently picked up the black bundle and putting it with delicacy against Athos’ belly, he whispered:

 

“You are a shadow … we should call you Ompra. That’s the name we would give you in Gascony.”

“Except that we still don’t know if this black fluffy ball is a lady or a gentleman.” Aramis smiled, as he sat down onto the chair next to Athos’ head.

“Sorry, I didn’t check where the wetness was coming from when I threw the beast into the courtyard.” D’Artagnan replied with a laugh which quickly morphed into a big yawn.

“Go to sleep, young man and you too, big philosopher. I prefer to stay here. It has been a tiring and stressful day for Athos, I don’t want him to be on his own to face his nightmares if they come back.” He added, laying a hand protectively on Athos’ back.

“I will come and relieve you before dawn.” Porthos told him with a soft tap on his friend’s shoulder.

 

Aramis removed his boots and settled comfortably, his feet on the mattress, to start his watch. He thanked Porthos with a flourish.

 

“Goodnight, gentlemen.” He murmured, then he turned his gaze towards the sleeping figures on the bed.

 

         Silence settled in the room only broken by the sounds of the dying wicks of the candles, the cries of animals in the late spring warm night and Athos’ soft breathing. Aramis smiled gently at his friend’s back.

 

_ You are back. It took us time to bring you back, it took you time to come back to us but you are back, at last! Porthos is right, there is nothing behind us, behind you, only dark things to forget. That dreadful past must be erased and we will erase it together. What a relief to see you smile again, to see the glint of humour in your eyes! Oh this dinner together, it was so good! You will have less and less nightmares. One morning, you will wake up and realise that you didn’t dream, or that you had only wonderful peaceful dreams. Maybe it will be in a week, maybe in a month, maybe in a year, but they will slowly vanish. Trust me, I know, and if they come back, we will wait for them, together. All for one … _

 

         Aramis absent mindedly took the end of one of his friend’s strands of wavy hair and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger until he realised what he was doing, and, laughing  quietly, he crossed his arms on his chest to begin his watch, a large smile on his lips.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	80. Foolish Thing

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**_Thursday, 12th June, morning_ **

 

         Athos woke to the loud sounds of the garrison that came automatically with the new daylight, when his comrades readied themselves for their service to the King. He could hear loud voices already shouting over the courtyard, while some of the men were washing themselves at the well or looking for some early breakfast in Serge’s kitchen. For a moment he simply enjoyed the sounds and sights around him, the soft breathing of the little puppy, which was lying at the foot of his bed; the sunlight on his face, which shone through his window -he ignored the small bundle of letters which were resting on the windowsill-; the loud snoring of Porthos who sat in a chair next to his bed, his mouth wide open, his head turned towards the door, his fingers wrapped around the barrel of his pistol.   It took him a while to realise that he was back in his own room. He was still touched by the love and friendship his brothers had shared with him during the past days. He had feared coming back to his own quarters, he had tried to delay the return as long as possible, convinced that his nightmares would return more often and more horrible than he’d already experienced in this room where he had suffered the horrible poisoning. He remembered how his body had suddenly betrayed him and how he had thought more than once that he would die the very next minute in his own bed. He blinked some tears away as he remembered the horrible pain gripping his whole body: fever, nightmares, seizures, chest pain followed by a galloping heart rate, unbearable pain in his throat that made every single swallow nearly impossible and left him struggling and gasping for air. The mere thought of it made him shiver. The little bundle down on his feet felt his emotional and nervous state. It stretched itself and walked on tiny velvety feet carefully over his body to his head. He first began to chew Athos’ fingers who hissed at the stinging sensation then the dog continued his way up Athos’ body stepping on his chest to reach his face and lick his single tear away, that was running down his cheek. Athos grabbed the young dog and pressed his face in its fur. The animal smelled of wet hair and something more musky, like sour milk.  

         Feeling the warmth and the small fast heart beating in the tiny chest calmed him immediately and dissipated his bad memories. The puppy looked at him with his dark-blueish teary eyes, he was very young, probably no more than two months old. Other pictures popped up in Athos’ mind, pictures of his friends: holding him, touching him, not letting go of him during his miserable time and hours of need and he felt his heart swelling with love and affection. It was at this moment that he realised that he had slept through the whole night without waking up to one single nightmare. When he had felt his eyes drooping last night it was Aramis sitting next to him, now Porthos was occupying this uncomfortable chair next to the bedhead. 

 

_ I’ve even slept through as they took turns in watching over me tonight. The tidied room has helped! _

 

         He turned his head again towards Porthos and decided to wake him. The position in which his brother was sleeping didn’t look comfortable and he was sure he would feel his aching and throbbing body all day long.

 

“Porthos.” He said in a husky voice, realising that he needed to drink and eat something.

“Hmm …?”

“Wake up!” Athos said a little louder, reluctant to wake him up but knowing he had to do it.

 

         No reaction from his bodyguard, but Athos didn’t blame him. His brother was more than exhausted. A sudden idea crossed his mind and he couldn’t help but grin. Only a short grin he himself wasn’t aware of. He softly petted the young dog then he scooped it from his neck into his hands and tenderly sat it in Porthos’ lap. The young dog started to sniffle on Porthos’ shirt, nibbling at the lace of his cuffs, then it started to climb up Porthos’ chest and reached his face, which it started to lick eagerly.

 

“Go away, Aramis!” Porthos exclaimed, his eyes still closed, but the young dog continued his sniffling and licking.

 

         As he didn’t receive any attention from the still sleeping man, it started to bark, at least to emit the high pitched squeak of a wounded rabbit. Confused Porthos opened his eyes, blinked several times and suddenly could feel something wet on his shirt.

 

“Ahhh … what the …” He grabbed the small dog and raised it with both hands above his head before putting it down onto the floor.

         Beside him he could hear Athos silently chuckling and he turned his head towards his friend.

 

“This is not funny … not funny at all.” He grumbled.

 

         Porthos felt his whole body aching. His position on the wooden chair hadn’t helped him to find a relaxing sleep. He could feel every bone and especially his back hurt. He stood up and stretched himself. He looked down in the dark eyes of the little dog that fixed its innocent almost blind eyes on him.

 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Porthos grumbled again.

“I tried to wake you. She helped.” Athos said in a mocking tone.

 

         Porthos glared angrily at his brother.

 

“I need a new shirt now.”

“I know this problem …” Athos sighed. “I needed several new shirts during the past days. I think I have to thank the person who washed them all for me.

“If I have to guess I would say it was Constance.” Porthos smiled at him. “D’Artagnan took care of it, but I doubt that he had the time …” Porthos stopped and smiled broadly at his brother.

“What?” Athos looked up.

“Aramis was right!”

“With what?! Now Athos looked even more confused than before.

“That returning to your own quarters would do you good.”

“Why do you think that?” Athos asked, as he slowly tried to sit up in his bed, looking for his trousers, boots and a new shirt.”

“You haven’t had a single nightmare and slept the whole night through!” Porthos exclaimed delighted. “What are you doing?” He added as he saw Athos attempt to stand up.

“I need to do …” Athos paused.

“Do you need help?” Porthos asked concerned.

“Porthos, I am not a child and unlike this little puppy, I can do it on my own. Why don’t you take this little girl to her young _maître_ and in the meantime I will take care of my morning rituals.”

“I shouldn’t leave you!” Porthos tried to argue, then he paused before adding. “Girl? How do you know that?”

“I had to find the source of the flooding!” Athos smiled mischievously. “Now, go, Porthos!” Athos ordered with a commanding tone in his voice.

The streetfighter softly grabbed the dog and left the room.

“As you command! I will bring you some breakfast.”

“No need to.”     

“Athos, you’ll have to eat.” Porthos rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I know, but not here. I will eat with you in the canteen. Go, Porthos!”

 

         Porthos shrugged then he left with the little dog squirming in his arms.

 

_ Aramis won’t like it. Anyway it’s a good sign that Athos is asking for his privacy and that he wants to be with us in the canteen. I need to let go. We need to give him space to return back to his normal life. Aramis can check on the wound and renew the bandage later. He’s better. His face is less pale and he has smiled. _

 

         Athos waited until Porthos had left the room. He was glad that Porthos didn’t look back, otherwise he would have noticed his face racked with pain as he tried to get up.

 

_ I should have asked Porthos for help. _

 

         He carefully took some steps to the place where his chamberpot was standing.

 

_ I need to be careful not to end up on the floor. My back still hurts and I am feeling slightly dizzy. Perhaps going to the canteen isn’t such a good idea. Stop that, Athos! You have to move on … to become better … it doesn’t help you to hide in your own bed under your blanket. _

 

         After he had finished his morning rituals he slowly made it back to his bed and with great effort he managed to put on a fresh shirt, his trousers, leather jacket and boots. For a moment he wondered whether he would take his weapons along, which were lying on a rickety table in the corner of the room , where d’Artagnan had left them for him the previous day, but he decided against it. They would have been too heavy for him to carry around. He looked in the small mirror he used to trim his beard from time to time and stared at himself. He looked thin. His eyes seemed deeper surrounded by dark shadows and his cheeks were hollow. Even the dimple at the corner of his mouth looked like a wrinkle more than a dimple. He felt older.

 

_ Goodness, I have lost weight. My trousers and shirts are too large for me. I definitely have to start eating again. _

 

         With a grasp towards his hat, which he put on his head, he finally and very slowly left his room in order to reach the canteen.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         It took Athos longer than he had thought to go over to meet his friends. He had to pause several times and to slow down.

 

_ My body is still betraying me. God … how will I ever manage to be a soldier again or to even draw a sword. _

 

         He angrily wiped with his shirt the sweat away from his forehead. The sun was already burning on the dusty floor of the courtyard. Some other Musketeers paused seeing him crossing the small distance from the barracks to Serge’s kitchen. They ignored that he was walking very slowly, but simply nodded at him with a smile on their lips or a _“Glad to have you back and up again!”_ or _“Good to see you!”_

         Athos felt touched by their brotherhood not only from his friends but even from his comrades. As he finally reached their table at the canteen Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan were already sitting at their favourite place eating and joking around. Aramis raised his eyebrows as Athos dropped onto the wooden chair opposite to him and gasped for breath.

 

“You alright?” D’Artagnan asked concerned, observing Athos’ glistening forehead.

“I am starving.” Athos answered stoically. “Aramis what am I allowed to eat, in order not to have those horrible stomach cramps again. Please tell me.” He emphasised the  _ please _ a little too much and looked with begging eyes in Aramis’ face.

 

_ You should have waited my friend, but I think you just found out about it yourself … but no I won’t say that right now. I am glad that you are making your first steps on your own again … without being anxious or panicking … you need this and the sooner you start … the sooner we’ll  have your old brooding self back. _

 

“I could have brought you something, Athos, you know that.” He softly answered, then he passed him some gruel, fruit and eggs.

“You should be fine with this to start with.”  Aramis said.

 

         This time Athos didn’t complain about the gruel, but started to eat and drink some water.

 

“Don’t overdo it!” Aramis warned him. “Eat slowly … your stomach needs to get used to food again.” He smiled as Athos simply nodded and slowed down in eating the gruel.

 

         A soft touch on his legs nearly made Aramis jump.

 

“D’Artagnan!” Aramis groaned as he looked under the table and spotted the black puppy lying on Athos’ boots. The latter seemed to ignore the fur ball on his feet and continued to eat.

 

         Porthos laughed out loud. He had changed his shirt after bringing the baby dog to d’Artagnan, who looked at him with curious eyes.  _ “What shall I do with her?”  _ He had asked  Porthos and the big man had only laughed and didn’t answer.

 

“What is it?” The young man asked irritated.

“Be careful that Serge doesn’t find out about your baby girl.” Aramis looked at him seriously.

“Pardon!”

“Your little fur baby is resting on Athos’ boots.” Aramis explained in a low tone.

“The puppy can stay there. It has no weight, at all, just like me.” Athos joked without smiling.

 

         Aramis stared at him with eyes wide open, while Porthos couldn’t hold back and put his arm around his shoulder and squeezed it softly.

 

“Hey Athos … your weight will come back.” Porthos softly mumbled in his ear.

“He’s right,  _ mon ami _ !” Aramis added trying to lock eyes with his friend who stared sadly at the wooden wall.

“Bring the dog away, now!” Porthos ordered d’Artagnan.

“I …”

“Now!” Aramis repeated in a much too harsh tone and d’Artagnan wasn’t sure why Aramis was suddenly so angry with him.

 

         He crept under the table, grabbed the small puppy, which protested with a loud squeak as it was forced to leave Athos’ boots. Athos ignored the fussing around him, lost in thought he ate some more spoons of gruel while trying to avoid Aramis’ still concerned eyes, observing him closely.

 

“Stay.” Athos ordered with a neutral voice as d’Artagnan -disheveled, his cheeks red and a sheepish look in his dark eyes- appeared with the fur bundle on his arm from under the table.

 

         Athos couldn’t help but find a similarity between d’Artagnan’s big brown eyes and the puppy’s puzzled look. He let a small smile appear on his lips.

 

“I tried to joke, Aramis, that’s all. I am not as fragile as you might think I am right now. I am weak, I am skinny, but I’ll live, thanks to you all. If d’Artagnan has to take care of this little watchdog then let him be. It doesn’t bother me.” Athos now looked at three astonished pairs of eyes.

“Tréville won’t be happy to see the animal here.” Aramis tried.

“Let’s deal with it when he finds out.” Athos said stoically. “Porthos can you pass me the strawberries, please.” He added, completely ignoring the stares and irritated glances of their brothers.

“Sure!” Porthos was happy to help.

 

         When d’Artagnan wanted to sit down again he suddenly felt something wet on his shirt.

 

“Oh nooo … not again!” He groaned and left in a hurry.

 

         For a moment Porthos and Aramis could see Athos smirking slightly.

 

“You knew that this would come sooner or later.” Aramis put the palm of his right hand on his face and shook his head unbelievingly.

“Er … yes, but it was funny to watch …” He now grinned.

 

         Porthos burst out in a loud laughter and Aramis felt relieved that the sadness he had seen earlier in Athos’ face had disappeared. He wanted to answer with his dry wit, but at this moment Tréville approached their table.

 

“Morning muster is in less than ten minutes.” He told them. “Athos, it’s good to see you up again.” He stepped behind his Lieutenant and put a hand on his right shoulder and squeezed it softly. “Where is d’Artagnan going?” He asked curiously.

“He will be back by then!” Porthos hurried to explain.

“Then we should hurry and finish eating.” Athos said, softly leaning into Tréville’s hand.

“No need to hurry!” He heard Tréville saying to his back.

“Why?”

“You are still on sick leave. No morning muster at least until the end of the week. Rest! That’s an order.”

 

         Athos slightly nodded. He had wished to go with his friends but he knew very well that he wasn’t fit for duty yet. He didn’t feel hungry anymore and so he excused himself, before his friends could stop him, he had left the canteen. Tréville could feel Athos slightly trembling as he raised from his chair, but he didn’t say a word and made no attempt to press him down back on the chair. Aramis watched angrily and as Athos slowly made his way back to his room he stated firmly:

 

“He shouldn’t be alone now!”

“He isn’t alone, Aramis!” Tréville sighed loud. “Give him some time, all of you!”

 

         With these words said, Tréville hurried away, blaming himself that by his appearance and reminding Athos that he wasn’t fit for duty yet, he had shooed his Lieutenant away.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_ What shall I do now? _

 

         Athos was standing in the middle of his room. He thought about lying down again, but he felt too restless to go to sleep, albeit staying in his room and reading one of his spare books, which were standing on the cupboard wasn’t an option for him. He needed fresh air. He thought about going into the courtyard and sitting down at their table, but morning muster was still ongoing and he didn’t want to watch or be watched by his comrades. He couldn’t stand the concerned looks of everybody else right now. He looked around in his room and searched for his little black friend, but d’Artagnan hadn’t brought her back. He missed the little girl. _You will need a name,_ he thought. Exhausted he sat on his chair and let his eyes wander around the room.

 

_ All the love they have put in to tidy my room. God … I need to thank them, but how? _

 

         He rested his face in his palms and tried to stifle his feelings. He felt some wetness in his hands and wiped it angrily away. His thoughts returned to the previous evening. Suddenly, as he was already lying in his bed, Aramis had put something back in his wooden chest.

 

_ “I’ve looked after your purse during the past days. When we had to take you out of your room I thought it would be safer with me.”  _ Aramis had softly mumbled.  _ “All your coins are still there and I have put in it the wage from May too.” _

 

         Athos stood up and opened the heavy lid of the chest. There it was his small brown leather purse. He could feel the weight as he lifted it. It felt heavier than the last time he had held it in his hands, wanting to pay for his repaired scarf.

 

_ Hmm … with the money I have left I could go to the marketplace and buy my brothers some presents. For Aramis some rare and expensive herbs for his medical kit, for Porthos a new set of cards and for d’Artagnan … what shall I buy the boy … _

 

         He groaned out loud.

 

_ He has helped me during these past days and I have no idea how I can repay him all his kindness. A new shirt? No … a new saddle? No, he uses the one of his father … _

 

         He closed his eyes for a while and tried to remember the spare belongings of his youngest brother as he imagined d’Artagnan’s room.

 

_ Ha … I have it … a hat … our young friend needs a hat … why didn’t I think about it earlier? _

 

         He started to count his coins.

 

_ If I save a little of the rest for ale, wine and food this month, it should work. I still have my income from my lodgings ...    _

 

         He put his purse under his trousers belt and paused in front of his weapons.

 

_ I can’t leave without one. I need to protect myself … Rochefort will try again … but I won’t hide. _

 

         For a moment, he doubted that his idea to go to the marketplace on his own  was such a good one. He wasn’t fit, but he couldn’t sit in his room and do nothing. He had laid in bed for nearly over two weeks now.

 

_ Enough! _

 

         He went over to his sword and lifted it in his hands. He felt a sharp pain in his back and put it down immediately.

 

_ No! I can’t carry it, it is too heavy and I won’t be able to protect myself with it. Even my leather jacket is too heavy. I have to leave that behind too. Alright. Shirt, trousers my small knife and a pistol. I cannot carry any more… _

 

         He knew exactly that it was a very foolish thing, but the idea of thanking his friends with special gifts gave him new strength and so he left his room. Outside of the door he could hear Tréville’s loud barking, counting his men, giving orders and telling them to work harder.

 

_ This is my chance to leave without being noticed … _

 

         He had totally forgotten to leave a note for his brothers, who would soon come to check over him. His bandage was still the one from the day before and Aramis hadn’t renewed his honey salve yet. Deep in thought he made his way slowly, pausing from time to time and panting for air, to the archway of the courtyard.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         As Athos finally reached the place where he knew there was a market each week, on the other bank of the _Seine_ , just behind _Le Louvre_ , he was panting heavily and gasping for each breath. He felt horrible, slightly dizzy and sweat was soaking his shirt and plastering on his forehead. The air from the _Seine_ didn’t reach the small area encased between the high walls of houses, some of which had been built several centuries before, with corbelled roofs which sent welcomed shadows over the market. He leaned against the stone wall of a house next to some market stalls and closed his eyes, exhausted. He didn’t notice the shadow following him,  stopping when he stopped, walking when he walked. After several minutes, he slowly raised himself and went over to a market stall which was offering several different card games. He took some in his hands to have a better look. The old salesman behind the stall glared at him warily. Athos didn’t look like a Musketeer, more like a vagabond. His shirt and trousers too large, his face still unhealthy.

 

“Stop touching all my goods!” He snarled angrily.

 “I am just looking for a present for a friend of mine.”

“Are you sure you have enough money to buy one!” The man laughed derisively and his mouth showed only a few yellow teeth left. Athos had to fight against being sick by the bad breath which he smelled.

“I will check out another stall!” He excused himself and moved on.

 

         Several minutes later, he had found some herbs for Aramis. He was attempting to pay the old woman behind the stall, reaching for his purse, when he felt a sudden movement at his back. He shivered. He had totally forgotten to check if he’d been followed. The walk to the marketplace had simply left him exhausted, he hadn’t any power left to check the perimeter for possible threats.

 

_ I am a fool. _

 

         He tried to reach for his main gauche with his right hand, but it was still holding his purse. His fingers started to tremble and before he knew what was happening he had dropped his open purse and all his coins were scattered on the muddy ground. He cursed silently while trying to bend down to reach for his property. The sudden pain in his back nearly made him fall onto the dirty floor too. He felt his throbbing heart and he tried to avoid panicking by breathing in more deeply. Suddenly someone was behind him. Athos gasped as he felt a hand against his neck ...

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	81. The Greatest Gift

⚔⚔

 

         Before Athos could act and get rid of the hand, he heard a soft voice whispering in his ear.

 

“Easy, I have your back.”

“Do you want the herbs or not?” A woman angrily asked.

“Give us a minute!”

 

         The man crouched down on the floor and started to pick up Athos’ coins before he put his whole property back into the small leather purse. Then he stood up, smiled at the woman, while pressing the purse back into Athos’ hand.

 

“I will take several other herbs as well. Let me see what else we will need and I’ll pay.”

 

         He choose some more plants and several small bottles which the woman packed for him. Then he turned around and looked into Athos’ eyes with all the love he could give at  this time.

 

“Save your money, _ mon ami _ .” He ordered softly.

“Aramis … what … what …” Athos gasped for air while he tried to calm his panicking nerves.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Half an hour earlier_ **

 

         Captain Tréville was standing at the balcony and staring at his gathered men. While he was counting his soldiers and giving orders in his loud voice, he noticed a shadow passing in the corner of the courtyard. Distractedly, he had to blink his eyes twice and suppress a loud groan as he realised to whom this shadow belonged.

 

 _No, Athos, this can’t be true, I ordered you to_ _rest not to leave the garrison. Where are you going? A tavern … no … not at this early hour of the day … even if you need to drink from time to time … you have never left this early …_

_ I need to do something … he’s not fit enough to leave on his own … he can’t protect himself. _

 

         At that  moment he realised that Aramis had made eye contact with him.

 

_ “Permission to follow the fool?”  _ His eyes pleaded.

_ “Go and bring him back in one piece. Watch his back!”  _ Tréville answered with a short nod.

 

         From all his men, only Porthos noticed the silent talking going on between them. The streetfighter turned his head around with curiosity and could see Athos stumbling through the archway.

 

_ Please tell me that you are only checking on Roger! _ Porthos inwardly groaned.

 

         He raised his eyebrow and looked over to Aramis.

 

_ “You stay here, I will manage this!” _ Aramis answered him.

 

         Then the medic silently left the ranks of his comrades.

 

“Where is he going?” D’Artagnan asked curiously.

“Taking care of Athos.” Porthos whispered back.

“Shouldn’t we go with him?”

“No, for now we have our orders for the day. Aramis has to check on Athos’ wound anyway. Let him deal with our stubborn brother today. You will see, he will come begging us for help in no time.” Porthos grinned, trying to hide his own uneasy feeling that Athos had left without telling them.

 

         Aramis slowly followed his still weak brother through the small streets of Paris. He was surprised to see him go up _la Rue du Bac_ , reach the bank of the _Seine_ and step clumsily into a boat to cross the river. Aramis lost a few minutes waiting for the boatman’s return but never lost sight of Athos. He saw him walk along the palace. At first he wasn’t sure if Athos was searching for a tavern, but then he realised where Athos was heading. Athos’ steps were more and more uneven, more and more slow, his shoulders hunched. No wonder he seemed so tired, it was quite a long walk for the still convalescent man.

 

_ He wants to thank us. He will spend his whole money to show us how grateful he is. He shouldn’t. He can barely walk straight. I have to stop him ... _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Come!” Aramis laid his arm around Athos’ shoulder and led him away from the stall. In his other hand he was carrying the small bundle with plants and healing tinctures.

“Wha …?” Athos tried to ask before being interrupted by Aramis.

“Stopping you from spending all your money and losing all your strength!” He answered and softly smiled. “Come you need to sit. Your legs are trembling like a leaf.”

 

         The medic led Athos over to _la Chapelle Saint-Eloi_.  It was a small church, wedged between two high houses and which could go unnoticed for anyone who didn’t know it existed. He pushed the door open and made his brother sit on a bench. In the shelter of the dark church, Aramis then sat next to him. For a moment, Athos allowed himself to lay his head on Aramis’ shoulder and he closed his eyes while he tried to calm his breathing. He could smell the odour of olibanum hanging in the air mixed with the odour of leather from his friend’s uniform, and in the distance he could hear the sizzling of the flickering candles. Aramis’ curls were brushing his forehead with each breath, it was a strangely calming sensation and Athos soon felt his head becoming heavier and his eyelids starting to close. Aramis could feel Athos’s body trembling. He didn’t let go of his friend’s shoulder, but pulled him nearer to himself running his hand up and down his arm and laying his cheek on Athos’ sweaty hair.

 

“Aramis … somebody ... could see us  … like this.” Athos protested with a small joke on his lips while leaning in Aramis’ touch.

“Shh … who cares … we are in a church …” Aramis replied before looking around them. “And as you can see, we are alone, there is no one to watch, no one to judge.”

“God?” Athos tried quietly.

“Dear friends, let us continuously love one another, because love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born from God and knows God.”

“Who said that?”

“ _ Saint Jean _ .”

“You know what I meant, Aramis.” Athos softly chuckled.

“I know … and I don’t care. We can’t prevent narrow-minded people from judging.”

 

         Aramis softly started to pray the rosary and Athos realised that the litany calmed him more and more.

 

“What are you doing here?” Athos whispered after Aramis had finished his third round.

“Praying!”

“I know … that’s not what I meant.”

“I am watching your back. I told you already.” Aramis squeezed his shoulder.

“Why … how …?” Athos asked confused.

“Because I know how I felt after Savoy. After my strength returned, after I was finally able to walk again on my own feet, after all those hours you and Porthos cared for me … I wanted to thank you by showing you my gratitude and buying you something special.”

 

         Athos opened his eyes and stared at his friend who was fighting with tears in his eyes as realisation hit him.

 

“I didn’t let you.” Athos whispered.

“No, you came after me and told me to buy us a drink instead and you were right.”

“Hmm …”

“The greatest gift you gave us back then was that you were alive and finally coming out of your room again and laughing about our silly jokes.” Athos stated, a lump in his throat.

“Exactly, Athos! So spare your money and come back with me to the garrison. I should check on your wound!”

“I can’t. Not now.” Athos mumbled. “I need …”

“Fresh air! No burnt wood around you.” Aramis finished his sentence.

 

         Athos nodded slowly.

 

“Yes! I need some time outside the walls of the garrison. I need to see other things, hear other noises, smell different odours. I can’t stand seeing the pictures of the still burned parts of our garrison right now.”

“Hmm ...”

“What?”

“You should have told me.”

“Why?” Athos looked irritated at his brother.

“Because I would have come with you in first place. It’s not so easy to come looking for you.” Aramis joked.

 

_ It was very easy, you were much too unconcentrated and way too slow, but I won’t tell you, my stubborn brother. _

 

“Would you go with me down to the  _ Seine _ ?” Athos suddenly asked.

“Now?” Aramis asked.

“Hmm ...”

“Come!” Aramis helped his exhausted brother up.

 

         It took them longer than usual to go down to the river side, but Aramis took his time and Athos was grateful that his brother didn’t force him to hurry. Instead he slowly walked next to him, a hand under his friend’s elbow, ready to catch him if he lost his balance. They were silent for a while. Athos looked down at the glistening blue-green of the flowing river, the mesmerising whirls where he nearly disappeared.

 

“I nearly drowned here.” Athos commented with a trembling voice as they neared the bridge where he had been attacked by Maurice Coulon.

“I know … I was so angry with you. I shouted at you, I pushed you. I’m sorry.” Aramis searched Athos’ green eyes and looked into them sadly.

“I can’t remember that at all. I only remember that you were holding me in your arms as I stumbled into your direction and later you and Porthos helped me into the wagon, where you treated my wound.”     

“Can you forgive me?” Aramis softly asked.

“Aramis!”

“What!”

“Are you insane?”

“Why?”

“You saved my life … all of you … stop asking me bizarre questions …”

“Will do.” Aramis mumbled.

 

         They stayed silent for a while.

 

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long did it take you to get rid of those panic attacks after Savoy?”

“I needed some time, but they passed. Thanks to Porthos and you.” Aramis paused and thought for awhile: “And the Captain. He gave me a lot of time to recover and he’s giving you the same ...”

“I know … and I appreciate that a lot, but I don’t want to feel so helpless any longer!”

“You are not helpless,  _ mon ami _ !” Aramis squeezed his arm.

“You know what I mean …”

“Yes …”

 

         Aramis watched Athos shuddering. He noticed his soaked shirt and the cold breeze that was coming from the river.

 

“Come! We have been here long enough. You need another shirt, I need to check on your bandage and a warm bed is already waiting for you.

“A bed with a little fur baby?” Athos barely audibly asked.

“I will make sure that Ompra will be there too!”

“Who?”

“Oh, the dog, d’Artagnan named her Ompra.”

“Ompra? Why that?”

“Because she sneaks in each corner, hides in the shadows and in the darkness, ready to watch over you.  _ Ompra _ means  _ shadow  _ in Gascon … Now we will have to check if this dangerous hound is really a girl.” Aramis chuckled.

“Porthos didn’t tell you? It’s a girl … so … Very well, little Ompra then, I like my watchdog!” Athos stated firmly.

“I thought I was your watchdog!” Aramis mocked turning his own eyes into a perfect imitation of puppy eyes.

 

         Athos rolled his eyes as an answer, then he slowly followed his friend back to the garrison, pausing from time to time, gasping for air, until Aramis had had enough. So he curled his arm around Athos’ back gripping his shoulder and told him to lean on him, which the swordsman accepted gratefully .  He didn’t care about what people would think, because for now, he only cared about the fact that he was alive, that he was being loved and for that he was grateful.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“Where did you find him?”

 

         Tréville asked Aramis concerned, who was still busy renewing Athos’ bandage after spreading the healing wound with some more honey salve. After that they had returned, Athos leaning more and more with his whole weight on Aramis’ shoulder, the latter had helped him to change his clothes and lie down on his stomach. Athos had fallen asleep at once.

 

“At some marketplace stalls behind the  _ Chapelle Saint-Eloi. _ ” Aramis answered quietly. “Can you help me to turn him on his back, please?” Aramis asked and together they softly turned Athos into a more comfortable position.

 

         Aramis re-arranged the pillows behind Athos’ head and back, while Tréville tucked the blue blanket around his healing body.

 

“He’s out cold! What was he doing there?” Tréville observed Athos’ chest rising and falling.

“He wanted to express his thanks to us and he needed some fresh air. Those garrison walls can be depressing if you have to stay too long in them.” Aramis softly answered.

“So, he wasn’t seeking one of his usual taverns?”

“You are worried he will do that?”

“I fear that he will!” Tréville sighed.

“No worries Captain, we will have his back then. Come, let him sleep. I will check on him later, it will do him good, if he finally has some time on his own.”

“He’s not on his own!” Tréville grinned suddenly.

“Oh, no, Ompra is with him.” Aramis smiled seeing the little dog lying next to Athos’ feet and playing with the blanket.

 

         Tréville had to suppress a loud laugh.

 

“What?” Aramis asked.

“D’Artagnan is looking for her everywhere. She’s driving him nuts.”

 

         Aramis had to grin.

 

“Shall we tell him?” He asked sheepishly, while he forced his Captain to leave Athos’ room and closed the door softly behind him.

“Perhaps later … for now … it cannot hurt to let him look a little longer. It distracts him.” Tréville answered, before returning to his office.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	82. Your eyes, Athos!

⚔⚔

 

**_Friday, 13th June_ **

__

“Where is Athos?” D’Artagnan asked curiously while eating a piece of cheese. “I thought he would join us for breakfast.”

“He’s sleeping ... finally!” Porthos grumbled while sitting down opposite to Aramis, who looked up from his own breakfast plate.

“Not a good night?”

“No … I think I woke him when we turned our shift and after that he couldn’t find sleep anymore.”

“Damn, I should have given him another of these sleeping draughts. He had a mild panic attack while I was with him during the first shift of the night, but I managed to calm him and I think Ompra helped him to calm down even more. This little fur baby has done a great job so far.” Aramis sighed remembering the previous night.

 

_ Your eyes, Athos! Your eyes when you awoke in the middle of a nightmare. No, you weren’t awake but your eyes were open, staring at me with a mixture of hate, fear, despair, hope. I recognised this expression in the pale green of your eyes, because I had already seen it. I don’t want to see it anymore, either in my own mirror or in your eyes, my friend. I know now how you felt when I came back from that icy hell, when you tried to convince me that life was worth the fight. I fought you as you fought me tonight, when I tried to seize your nervous hands. Your hands, they looked so pale under my fingers, so thin, so fragile. You confused me with an invisible enemy. Rochefort, your wife, Coulon? I don’t know, I don’t want to know, I just want to erase them from your mind. I tried Athos, I really tried but you didn’t let me. You are so proud, so stubborn … It will take months before the pain vanishes … if it vanishes … but we will be there, for each of your steps. I swear, Athos. _

 

“I will go and check on him.” Aramis suddenly announced standing up abruptly, a strange expression in his eyes, but Porthos held him back with a strong grip on his wrist. Aramis looked at him disapprovingly.

“Not now, Aramis, later.” Porthos explained calmly, ignoring the blaze in his friend’s dark eyes. “He pretended to be asleep the whole night, while suffering from another nightmare or whatever … I tried to encourage him to talk with me but he ignored it. I think he is simply frustrated that those attacks are still haunting him and he can’t do anything against it.”

“He can when he finally starts talking about his nightmares …” Aramis mumbled.

 

         Porthos rolled his eyes.

 

“We have our grumpy Comte back. No chance!”

“So what shall we do now?” D’Artagnan asked. “I can bring him his breakfast.” The Gascon offered.

“Nahh, I will do this. You can take care of the fur ball instead.” 

 

         Porthos shook his head and started to finally eat his own breakfast. His thoughts wandered back to his still healing friend and he couldn’t help but fear that Athos would do something stupid very soon.

 

_ Whatever it takes, whatever it is, whatever happens, I have your back Athos. Promise! _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Athos awoke to the sound of his rumbling stomach telling him that he was hungry. Groggily, he opened first his right then his left eye and stared at the ceiling of his room. He needed some time to think where he was. His head was spinning and he felt dizzy. Angrily he squeezed his eyes shut and fought the sickness that he felt, which gladly vanished again. A soft whimper from his door made him turn his head around. He spotted Ompra who was obviously in need to do something and he felt the same.

 

_ Alright then, I will let you outside. I need to stand up anyway. _

 

         Athos slowly sat up on his bed. This way he hoped that the dizzy feeling in his head wouldn’t become worse and it helped. He noticed a small tray next to his bed with some slices of bread and cheese and a cup with water.

 

_ What time is it? I must have slept a long time, I didn’t hear any of my brothers bringing me breakfast. _

 

         Instinctively, he reached for the bandage at his back. It was still an old one so it hadn’t been Aramis.

 

_ Porthos must have brought me the tray,  _ he assumed _. _

 

         He felt bad how he had treated Porthos during the night but he simply hadn’t any strength left to tell his brother about his nightmare. Another one with Anne bending over his dead brother, the murder weapon still in her hand and looking at him. First she had looked at him with tears in her eyes, confused, but her face had changed into a horrible grimace .  Her eyes blown wide, her mouth warped and he had heard her loud laughter.  _ Next on my list is you.  _ The face had changed from Milady’s into Rochefort’s. He had woken up with a loud scream on his lips. Confused, he had stared into Aramis’ brown eyes, which were encircled by dark rings and looked more worried and intensified through the soft light of a burning candle, which stood at the opposite side of his room. While he was struggling for each breath and panting for air it was Aramis’ tender grip that helped him to calm down again, followed by his new black shadow, who had felt his distress and started to lick away some of the tears he had shed.

 

_ I’m so sorry, Aramis. You looked so confused, so sad, so distraught. I should have said something. I was awake, confused but awake, but the words just wouldn’t leave my mind. I should have told you, I should have explained. I tried to talk with my eyes, but I fear that all you could see was the reflection of my mad mind. I wish I wasn’t making you live this, you had to fight so hard against your own demons. I saw it in your eyes, tonight. I felt it in your touch. I’m so sorry to be such a burden. _

 

         After that small episode he had tried to sleep again. He woke up after Aramis had changed shift with Porthos. Embarrassed that he would have another panic attack he pretended to sleep, but feared that sleep would come the very next minute. He must have fallen asleep finally in the early morning hours. By observing the light that came through his window he assumed it must be late morning, around eleven. Ompra whined again and Athos forced himself to go over to his door in slow steps and open it. After she had left he cleaned himself and then set down exhausted on his wooden chair. He felt hungry but at the same time he feared that his stomach wouldn’t keep the food down so he only drank some water. Then he started to loosen the bandage around his back. He felt the stitches, which Aramis had neatly added on his skin, his wound was healing properly. He looked for Aramis’ salve and started to treat the wound himself and renewed the bandage. After that, he inspected his chest. He couldn’t see the spot any longer where the needle had dug into his pale skin. Satisfied about that he pulled on a shirt and decided that he needed some fresh air. Perhaps he could make it over to Roger and take him some carrots. He still didn’t feel up to walking for a very long distance, but he felt the need to flee his room, to see, to hear and to smell other things and to distract himself from his inner demons.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Porthos rested on their favourite bench while he watched d’Artagnan giving instructions to rebuild the last parts of their stall. Several more hours and they would be able to bring the horses back in, maybe around late afternoon Porthos mused. He looked over to the young Gascon who didn’t show any signs of having been stabbed by a moron several days ago. The wound had healed and having this task had helped d’Artagnan to concentrate on other things.

 

_ Athos needs a task as well, staying alone in his chambers will drive him nuts … I know him. Perhaps he can help with bringing in the horses later today. I should have changed his bandage earlier, but he was still asleep and I didn’t want to wake him when I brought him his breakfast … I should check on him … _

 

         Porthos felt something pulling at his trousers leg and looked down.

 

“Ompra, stop that! Wait … what are you doing here? Where is Athos?”

 

         Porthos left the bench and hurried back to Athos’ room. He knocked loudly on his door and didn’t wait for an answer but pushed it open. Porthos scanned with his eyes Athos’ room. Crumpled sheets, the breakfast untouched, an old bandage on the stool and Athos’ nightclothes were spread on the floor, but his brother was nowhere to be seen.

 

_ Damn … you sneaked out on me … where are you? _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Athos still felt dizzy as he finally reached the meadow where the horses of the garrison were resting. He breathed in deeply.

 

_ God, I have missed this, it feels so good to breathe in these scents again: grass, manure, oh and this one, so sweet, almost too sweet, lime tree, it’s the perfume of the lime tree, and hay and hidden behind them all it must be honeysuckle.  _ __

 

         Athos took another deep breath and closed his eyes, enjoying it, enjoying life, breathing through his nose, with a slight smile on his lips.

 

_ Breathing like that isn’t good for this dizziness, but it feels so good.  _

 

         Athos thought while swaying dangerously. Someone who might have seen him now, would have probably thought that he was drunk. H e continued walking unsteadily towards the enclosure. A neighing welcomed him and Roger trotted towards him recognising him at once in a cloud of dust. His dark eyes scanned him with concern. With his big nose he touched Athos’ shoulder, looking for some carrots to eat. Athos had seen d’Artagnan and Porthos being busy in the courtyard and had decided to leave the garrison through the other exit. It still took him longer than he liked it and walking stressed his sore back and he panted while he stroked the mane of his horse. The fresh air felt good. He could hear the gurgling of the small stream nearby.

 

_ I missed you!  _

 

         Athos breathed in deeply and buried his face in Roger’s mane. He had no idea how long he stood like this. He only felt his feet becoming heavier and he started to tremble slightly.

 

_ Damn … I need more strength. I want to be my normal self again. _

 

         He heard footsteps behind him and turned his head around.

 

“There you are!”

“Morning!”

“You look like you need to sit down, boy! And you need to eat more!”

“I know Serge!” Athos tried to smile at the elderly man.

“I’m glad ye’re al...ight … missed you these past days.”

“I’m still on sick leave.” Athos softly answered.

“You ought to ... you look so pale … just like the flour I use for the bread.”

“Come back to the table.” Serge ordered Athos and the young officer listened to the experienced soldier.

 

         As they slowly made their way back through the archway of the garrison he could see Porthos’ angry face suddenly in front of him.

 

“You could tell us where you are going!” He said angrily.

“I only wanted to check on Roger, Porthos. I am f …”

 

_ No I am not … will I ever be?  _ Athos thought.

 

         The sad expression that passed in Athos’ eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Porthos judging look. Without any further words the strong man nodded to Serge, then he stepped next to Athos, laid his hand on his back -carefully he avoided touching Athos’ wound- and pushed him softly back to their bench in the courtyard.

 

“Sit! You need to eat!” Porthos ordered.

 

         Athos sat exhausted on the bench and remained silent. The sad expression in his eyes returned and Porthos had no idea how to reach Athos in this mood, still fighting with his inner demons and the realisation that his body was still too weak to be back to normal soon. Captain Tréville took several steps back from the balustrade of the balcony. He had watched Athos and Porthos. Athos leaning more and more on Porthos, the sad expression in his eyes and he cursed himself that he could do nothing to make his Lieutenant feel better. While Porthos went away to fetch some food for his friend, d’Artagnan sat next to Athos on the bench. Silently both brothers looked at the new stable.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Porthos had thought that he would finally find the right moment to ask Captain Tréville again about his father, but the right moment still hadn’t come and the longer he waited he had the impression that Tréville was avoiding his querying glances, looking into another direction or pretending to be busy with paperwork or giving orders to some other Musketeers.

 

_ What does he know about my father? Does he know that he isn’t alive anymore and does he want to spare me finding out about this? That’s rubbish … he could tell me. So … my father must still be alive. Why can’t he simply tell me and answer my questions? Can’t he see that I want to know. He usually doesn’t act this way … I will give it time. First Athos must completely heal and then I will ask him again. _

 

         Porthos headed to the kitchen. When he entered the room it was like entering a hive, a noisy, stuffy, steamy hot hive. Serge was shouting orders to three barely adult boys who nodded, nervously carrying out his orders with quick clumsy movements. Something was already boiling in a large pot in the giant hearth, probably a stew for dinner. Big greasy bubbles were appearing and bursting at the surface with thick “plops”. Porthos breathed in deeply, his stomach enjoying the smell of smoked lard and cabbage. Serge turned around in a cloud of flour to meet his eyes questioningly. The deep wrinkles of his face stood out underlined by the flour. His large apron was covered in a multitude of various stains.

 

“Hey, Porthos, what d’you want? It’s too early to dine and you had your breakfast not long ago, boy!  I know you are an ogre, but …”

“Nah, it’s for Athos!”

 

         Serge stopped and wiped his hands on his apron. Without saying a word, he immediately busied himself with carefully choosing thin slices of dry ham and cheese which he laid out on a plate, then he ran to a cupboard, climbed on a stool and reached for the higher shelf where he retrieved a large bowl.

 

“Look at that, boy!”

 

         Big dark pink raspberries filled the container emitting a sweet sugary smell.

 

“Tell me Serge, why are you hiding this treasure, why did I have to eat broad beans and cheese for breakfast?”  

“That’s only for well-behaved children.” Serge replied, pouring a handful of raspberries into a small bowl and swatting Porthos’ hand who managed to throw a few fruits in his mouth anyway. “And broad beans fill your stomach better when you need to fight, you big greedy beast.”

 

         When Porthos left the kitchen followed by a cloud of perfumed steam, a voice startled him:

 

“Can we speak?”

 

         Astonished and hopeful Porthos turned around as Tréville approached him.

 

“Sure, Captain!”

“I don’t like seeing Athos like this.”

 

_ Ah of course … Athos. What else did I expect that the Captain would want to speak about  now? _

 

“Me neither, Captain, I guess he simply needs time. He’s still not fit for light duty, but he needs a task, otherwise …”

“I know Porthos. I will think about something. I only fear that with paperwork I will upset him right now. Make him eat, drink and don’t let him leave the garrison on his own. Rochefort is still out there.” Tréville paused. “I know, I don’t have to tell you that.” He sighed loud and scratched his beard.

“No, Captain!” Porthos looked at him with a grim smile. “We will have his back. If you excuse me now, I should take this food to Athos.” Porthos grabbed the small basket in which he had laid some of the food Serge had given him and left Tréville standing behind.

 

         Tréville felt his own uneasiness.

 

_ Why is everything so complicated lately? Will it get better? I need to find a way to tell Porthos, to explain … but how? But first I have to deal with my Lieutenant ... _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Aramis didn’t know what to expect, he had volunteered for palace guard with Jean today, so Porthos could stay back at the garrison. It seemed odd to be without his brothers on palace guard, but he had wanted to watch Rochefort. The fact that their hands were tied drove him crazy.

 

_ How can Athos heal? How can he find peace? How can he move on? When the perpetrator is still not punished for his evil deeds. This man is a monster. And now Athos has to face this person each time he has to fulfill his job at the palace? _

 

         Another thought crossed his mind.

 

_ And not only him. Milady is going in and out as well … I fear that Tréville is right, we really have to watch Athos from ending up drunk in a shabby tavern.  _ He groaned inwardly.

 

         As the morning moved on, Aramis felt bored. No joking and teasing around with Porthos or d’Artagnan. Jean kept to himself. The sharpshooter forbade himself to share some longing looks with the Queen. Rochefort appeared only shortly for a conference with the King which they both held in the private study room of the King. It didn’t last long. Like a peacock, he left the room after fifteen minutes and enjoyed all eyes on him from the other members of the Court who had hoped for an audience with the King but had no luck. Aramis had waited for something from Rochefort. A wrong word, a treacherous look, a suspicious gesture, but nothing.

 

_ I have to be careful. This man is a good actor. No doubt he’s wanting more power and the King is foolish enough to listen to his lies. One day Rochefort … one day … very soon! _

 

         Finally, Aramis and Jean returned to the garrison. On their way out Aramis spotted Milady, but he had no time to speak to her. He only caught her questioning look and he knew that she had wanted to ask him about Athos’ state of health. He still wasn’t sure what he should make of her. She was a riddle to him, but one thing was for sure, whatever she had tried last year, she still loved Athos. Even if she was flirting with the King.

 

_ Time to go back and check on my friend. _ Aramis thought and wondered how Athos was this afternoon.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	83. He’s doing it again.

⚔⚔

 

        As Aramis arrived back in the garrison he found his three friends and a restless puppy at their bench. While d’Artagnan tried to convince Athos to eat something more, which the swordsman reluctantly did, Porthos stood up and went over to Aramis. Leaving a confused puppy behind who had been playing with one of Porthos’ boots.

 

“We need to talk but not here.” Porthos mouthed to Aramis.   

 

        The medic understood at once.

 

“I have to take my horse to the paddock, come with me.” Aramis told his brother while he observed Athos’ whole posture.

 

        His friend was hunched over the table, his shoulders hanging low. His hands clasped in front of him, he was wriggling his fingers, twisting them restlessly. His head was bowed and veiled by the curtain of his hair where the warm air was playing, making it sway gently without ever parting it enough for Aramis to see his friend’s expression. The marksman wished he could lock eyes with him, but Athos knew exactly what he was trying to do and he obstinately hid behind his strands, which allowed him to watch without being seen. With a shrug and an irritated sigh, Aramis led his horse back to the archway.

 

“What shall we do with him? He needs a task?” Porthos grumbled angrily.

“Give him time!” Aramis was busy retrieving the saddle of his horse.

“How much time?” Porthos asked.

“As long as it takes. He’s back in his own room. He’s trying to do things on his own. He’s not happy with the whole situation. I guess he simply needs space.” Aramis tried to calm Porthos.

“I wish we could do more!”

“We are already doing that!” Aramis tried to smile but all he could accomplish was a fake one.

 

        He was as worried as Porthos but from his own experience he knew that they couldn’t rush or force things. Now it was up to Athos to find his way back to his normal self.

 

“I am worried that he will end up drinking himself into oblivion all over again.”

“In that case we’ll go with him and stop him from turning back into a drunk.” Aramis softly laid a hand on Porthos shoulder.

“There is a huge sadness in him.”

“We all have these moments from time to time, Porthos. Come, I’ll check on Athos’ wound and then I will tell him to sleep a little longer.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Athos stared at the ceiling of his room, it was early evening and he could hear the voices of his comrades outside in the courtyard yelling and shouting while bringing the horses back to the new stable. Athos had first thought about going outside to watch them but then he had decided against it. Porthos had asked him earlier to help, but he wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea yet. He couldn’t really help and just sit on the bench would frustrate him, seeing his comrades hidden glances and wondering if he would ever return as a Musketeer. He looked around but Ompra wasn’t there. _Perhaps Aramis had taken her with him,_ he mused. After Aramis had checked him over again he had suddenly felt very tired. Maybe the medic had put something in the water he had forced him to drink or he was simply exhausted from last night. He wasn’t sure. He had closed his eyes and drifted off in a more restful sleep than the night before and didn’t notice Aramis leaving.

        Now the dizziness was gone. He felt better this morning, not overtired any longer, but being in his room didn’t help him. In spite of the thick walls, the atmosphere was stuffy with heat and distant smells which reminded him of illness and long suffering and the wax they had used to clean his furniture didn’t manage to cover it entirely. He needed fresh air. He slowly sat up in his bed, bending his legs gingerly. He stayed a few minutes like that, his arms around his knees, his eyes fixed on the window where the bright sun was trying to flood the room between the drawn curtains.

        Then he looked for his trousers, shirt and boots and began to dress, meticulously smoothing the folds of his shirt, lacing the cuffs, buttoning his jacket and tying his belt where he finally and proudly hung his sword. He noticed that his jacket smelled of grease and beeswax. He smiled. They had cleaned it too and the gloves were new. He scanned the room on instinct to look for his scarf. He missed it but his eyes met d’Artagnan’s scarf neatly folded on a chair. As he fastened it around his neck, his thoughts returned back to his own scarf.

 

_Unbelievable that I am still missing this old fabric … anyway I’m not sure if I should make a clean break … Why can’t I let go of it? I have no idea where it is. They’ve probably thrown it away …or destroyed it._

 

        He left his room and paused in the courtyard. The new stable looked good. Athos was proud of what his young protégé had accomplished in such a short time. Even with a nasty injury he had helped to rebuild their home.

 

_I am useless …_

 

        He stood a little longer in the shadow of the door and watched his comrades. In the distance he could see his brothers helping to bring in the horses. D’Artagnan was busy with Roger. He couldn’t see the Captain anywhere, but he mused that he was standing on his balcony watching the whole process. Athos didn’t know why but his feet dragged him outside. He needed to walk. He enjoyed the warm breath of the evening wind which was rustling the green leaves in the trees. Near to the garrison was a wooden path surrounded by high trees and a small river. He slowly walked down this path which led into some outer parts of the city. He knew that he should have told his brothers that he was leaving, but he didn’t feel up to explain himself, besides they were all busy. His thoughts drifted back to three weeks ago when he spotted Milady and the King for the first time in the palace.

 

_Why can’t she simply leave my life?_

_Why does she always have to return and remind me of my tragic past?_

_Why can’t I move on?_

_Why is my past haunting me lately?_

_Why couldn’t Rochefort rot in that hell of a Spanish prison cell?_

_None of this would have happened and all those people he killed, Ana-Josefa … they ... she still would be alive …_

 

He breathed in deeply. He noticed that he had reached a shabby quarter of Paris with some less expensive taverns.

 

_I want to forget! I want to let go! I want everything back to normal!_

_Why can’t it be like this … Why?_

 

        He didn’t realise that he wasn’t panting as much than the day before. His steps had become more steady and he felt less weak, but he was so gripped by his sad mood that he neither noticed that he was better than the day before nor that his brother was following him in the shades and shadows of the trees and rotten huts.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_A little earlier_ **

 

        Porthos rolled his eyes unbelievingly as he saw Athos slowly leaving the garrison. He seemed to be lost in thought because he wasn’t aware that he nearly ran into Pierre, who looked astonished at his Lieutenant.

 

“What?” D’Artagnan asked, seeing Porthos’ glance and then the rolling of his brown eyes, while he was trying to calm Roger, who obviously wasn’t really happy to have to return to the stable.

 

        The intelligent but very sensitive animal still remembered the fire.

 

“He’s doing it again.”

“Who is doing what?” D’Artagnan asked confused.

“He means Athos leaving again without telling us.” Aramis explained, while he ran a hand through his thick dark hair. “Shall I go?” He asked.

“Naa, today it’s my turn. I will follow him and will try to convince him to come with us to the Wren. If he has the desire to drink then he shouldn’t at least do it on his own.” Porthos snorted angrily.

“Very well, then we will meet you both later there. But Porthos …”

“Yes, I know Aramis, I will leave him alone, I will intervene only if he needs help or is up to do something stupid.”

“Or if you think that he is too weak to walk on his own.” Aramis added.

“Why doesn’t he help us with the horses?” D’Artagnan asked. “It would distract him.”

“Of course it would, but he still thinks he is too weak for this task …” Porthos groaned before heading after his stubborn brother.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        Undecidedly Athos paused in front of a tavern he knew from his early days as a Musketeer. The wine was horrible but cheap. He hadn’t been here in years. For a short moment he considered to enter it, to search for a lonely table in a dark corner and order a bottle of wine. The swordsman was about to go in when the door of the shabby tavern was pushed open. With a well placed kick a vagabond was thrown out by the owner of the inn. The man was obviously drunk and stumbled onto the dusty street, where he collapsed in a heap.

 

“Don’t dare to come back, if you cannot afford what you are ordering!” He shouted angrily. Not able to stand up on his own the drunk closed his eyes and stayed in this humiliating position.

 

        Athos turned around, ignored the man on the floor and the waiter and moved on.

 

_Getting drunk now won’t help me at all. I haven’t eaten that much and I have no one that can bring me home. My brothers will worry about me and they have worried enough about me lately. I can’t do this to them …_

_Athos what are you doing here? Return to the garrison! Being drunk and wanting to forget nearly killed you the first time … as much as I would love to drench my sorrows tonight … I can’t do it. Maybe I can_ _find another bottle in my trunk in my room …_

_They will be upset with me … but at least they will know where I am._

 

        Athos turned around and slowly made his way back to the garrison. The figure in the darkness sighed loudly.

   

“I should have known that you wouldn’t let me out of your sight.” Athos said softly.

“Better safe than sorry!” Porthos mumbled and stepped next to him. Then he laid an arm on Athos’ shoulder. “I don’t want to risk losing you, my friend. Where are you going?”

“Back to the garrison!” Athos looked into Porthos’ caring eyes.

“Hmm …”

“What?”

“You still owe me a glass of wine at the _Wren_?”

“Why?” Athos asked but then realisation hit him.

 

_Because I apologised way too often._

 

“You know why! Do you mind buying me this drink tonight?” Porthos asked.

“No, not at all with a decent meal.” He smiled for a second.

“Then come. But I hope you have enough money with you.”

“Why? Are you that thirsty?” Athos asked confused.

“Me no, but I guess that Aramis and d’Artagnan will come along very soon.” He laughed out loud.

 

        They slowly made their way in silence to the _Wren_. As they nearly reached it Athos turned to Porthos.

 

“Thank you, _mon ami_!” Athos’ green eyes looked into Porthos’ dark brown eyes.

 

        Porthos only nodded, obviously fighting to find his voice again. These words coming from the bottom of Athos’ heart expressed so much more than only two words.  

 

“Tell me.” Athos suddenly said in a soft voice.

“What?” Porthos blinked confused.

“While we are waiting for the others tell me about your father, about what you know … Tréville might have his reasons ... The only thing I really can do right now is listen, but I need to sit down soon or you’ll have to carry me home.” Athos tried to joke to ease the tense atmosphere, while he was swaying a little.

 

        Athos noticed the sudden change in Porthos’ facial expression.

 

“I don’t want to bother you.” Porthos tried to start, while he fastened his grip around Athos’ waist so that his brother wouldn’t stumble and fall over his own feet.

“You don’t bother me at all … I need to do something … and all I can do right now is sit down, have a decent meal, some wine and a good long talk with my friend who saved my life during these past days more than once. Please Porthos!” Athos turned his head again towards Porthos’ while he leaned more into the firm grip.

 

        Porthos stopped in the middle of the road. He sighed out loud.

 

“Alright, Athos, I will tell you, but first let me help you to walk. You still look as if you will soon pass out and I can feel your legs trembling.”   

 

        Athos accepted Porthos’ help without protesting. If he was honest with himself he was glad that Porthos had followed him. When they finally reached the _Wren_ they found a round table at the back of the tavern. While waiting for their friends Porthos started to tell Athos the story from the beginning and the swordsman listened without interrupting his brother.

 

“Keep asking Tréville … sooner or later he has to tell you.” Athos advised. “Wait for the right moment and if you need me you know where to find me.”

“When will he tell me?” Porthos asked frustrated.

“I don’t know.” Athos answered.

 

        Porthos wanted to explain himself more, but at that moment Athos gave him the sign that Aramis and d’Artagnan were entering the tavern, so he fell silent.  While Athos waved their friends to join them, Porthos decided to leave the topic for the rest of the evening. During their talk Athos had barely touched any food but drank more wine and Porthos thought it was about time to change that. Over the next hour he and Aramis convinced Athos to eat more of the **[stew *](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/29839968#chapter_83_endnotes)** they had ordered while d’Artagnan tried to interest Athos by talking about rebuilding the infirmary and swords training the next day. Porthos was still fighting with his feelings but talking with Athos had helped him and not only him because during the evening with his brothers Athos’ sad mood changed a little.

 

 _Finally Athos. Perhaps you can’t see it, but I can see that_ _you are returning to us ..._

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        From the other side of the tavern a person in the shadows watched the four _Inséparables_. The person observed the swordsman longer than the others. In the shimmering light of several candles she could see his pale face. He was even slimmer than the day she had seen him at the palace when the nobleman died.

 

 _My God Athos I hardly recognise you, I nearly lost you!_ She blinked some tears away.

 

        But he was alive, her husband was still alive, surrounded by his friends. His big friend, Porthos, was sitting next to him, guarding him to the side from any possible stolen glances or threats. Her former young lover, d’Artagnan, was eager to tell him something, waiting patiently for a reaction or an answer and Aramis, the marksman and womanizer, was having a close look at Athos’ well-being. She drew back even further as the medic decided that it was time for Athos to return to the garrison and his room. As they all stood up it was more than obvious that Athos was still not hundred percent fit, because he swayed dangerously, but this could have been caused by alcohol as well, albeit she doubted it.

 

_Who has done this to you Athos?_

_Who is lurking in the shadows of your past and wants to see you dead?_

_They blame O’Sullivan as the perpetrator._

_Alright, I can see that Maurice Coulon attacked you with a knife, but who was his accomplice and purchaser?_

_I need to find a way to talk to Aramis again._

_I am glad that you are better … if I ever find out who did this to you … this person won’t live long enough …_

 

        Athos felt her stare at his back. When Aramis pushed him softly to the door he hesitated and turned his head around, but he couldn’t see the person who was observing him in the dark.       

 

“Come, my friend, time to go home.” Aramis whispered in his ear.

“I only thought …”

“What?” Porthos asked at his other side.

“Nothing …” Athos shook his head.

 

_No, Anne wouldn’t come here and observe me. It’s over. It’s the past and it should stay in the past. Time to move on Athos. Time to get better and I will get better._

 

**_To be continued..._ **

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manual workers, peasants and soldiers usually had three meals a day in 17th century (when they were lucky): -a nourishing breakfast (broad beans, lentils, cheese, onions) at sunrise; -a dinner between 10:00 am and 1:00 pm -now called lunch- (stew or soup sometimes perfumed with lard and accompanied by brown bread especially in winter / cheese, dry meat, dry fruits and brown bread for the peasants who stay in the fields all day long); -a super -now called dinner- around 6:00 pm (only broth and bread). Rich people ate two meals a day: a very nourishing dinner (they could eat meat every day) around 10:00 am and a super at sunset, sometimes a light collation in the afternoon or before 10:00 am especially during Lent.


	84. Something New in the Air

⚔⚔

 

**_Saturday, 14th June_ **

 

         There was something new in the air this morning, maybe the light, it was as if a myriad of particles were vibrating above the rooftops; maybe the sounds, hushed by this palpitating atmosphere; even the birds were quieter than usual, numbed by the heat of the previous days. Over two week s had passed since … d’Artagnan discarded the thought, but really, two weeks? It seemed that months had passed. He breathed in the smell of sawdust coming from the infirmary. The work had considerably progressed but there were still missing doors and windows. The sun was still low behind the roofs of the garrison but the Musketeers were already ready to start a new day which promised to be warm and dry.

         The  _ Inséparables  _ had renounced to the stuffy air of the mess to settle at their usual table near the stairs. They were eating quietly, even Porthos didn’t try to joke. Aramis yawned behind the back of his hand his eyes fixed on the bread he was crushing between his fingers sending crumbs all around his plate. D’Artagnan wondered what kind of thoughts plagued their minds. Undoubtedly, one of them was about Athos. The way he had tried to leave the garrison endangering his recovery worried them, each time they had taken him back apparently weak and depressed.

         However, d’Artagnan partly understood why Athos wanted to escape. He had felt the same way a few days before, but now, he felt himself again, his wound had healed properly and he just felt a slight stinging, sometimes, when he made a violent effort. Being in charge of rebuilding the stable and infirmary had helped him a lot. He had focused on something else, on something essential. He had felt useful again.

         That was probably what Athos missed, feeling useful, but his wound and his illness had been too serious to let him make unwise choices and foolish efforts. He looked towards Athos’ lodgings. His friend wasn’t up yet. It occurred more often since his illness. He had always been the first at their table. Even after having drunk heavily for a whole evening, he was the first ready, neatly dressed, hair wet from a probable dive into his bucket, curls dripping into his collar, hands firm, head straight, the only  evidence of alcohol abuse visible in his red rimmed eyes. Since his illness, however, Athos slept a little longer.

         A high pitched barking made the men raise their head. A black cannonball rushed towards them and jumped cheerfully around their legs.

 

“Ah, Ompra, where is your Captain?” Porthos laughed.

“I am here.” A low rumbling voice answered.

 

         Aramis stood up, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

 

“How are you, my friend?”

“Perfectly fine.” Athos answered with a forced smile.

“Which  _ fine _ ?”

“I am hungry. Does that answer your question?” Athos drawled with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Stop being so anxious, you make me …”

 

         He stopped abruptly, realising that what he was about to say could hurt Aramis, who stared at him with a frown. Porthos saved him from continuing.

 

“Hey, Aramis, leave him alone. He is a man, a Musketeer, not a child or one of your damsels in distress.”

 

Aramis sat down again slapping Porthos on the head. D’Artagnan looked at them with a wide grin and pushed a plate towards Athos. The latter just took a slice of bread and a small piece of cheese which he began to chew slowly, without raising his eyes, without uttering a word. Aramis frowned again but Porthos shook his head to keep him from speaking.

 

“Did Tréville give any orders?” Athos asked unexpectedly.

“Finish that damn infirmary, his exact words.” Porthos laughed. “He told us that as we were so oblivious to the danger, a proper infirmary was the first thing we needed.”

“How can he have such thoughts?” D’Artagnan laughed with a wink at Athos. “What will you do today Athos, except resting as ordered by our grumpy Captain?”

“Just resting I suppose. I am of no use anyway ... What kind of help could a man in my state be in a garrison?”

 

Aramis let a loud sigh escape his mouth at hearing the bitterness in Athos’ tone. He wanted to say something to cheer Athos up, but a door opening above their heads made them look up.

 

“Aramis, Porthos, if you are finished, I would like you to come to my office. We need to organise the training session of the new recruits. Now! D’Artagnan, infirmary as I said earlier, then, training the boys with the others.” He barked before re-entering his office.

“I thought that the _ I would like _ was a little too sweet in his mouth.” Porthos said, standing up and taking a handful of cherries from the bowl he had brought from the kitchen. “But the  _ now, _ is more our Captain’s style.”

 

         They headed towards the stairs under the undecipherable look of Athos. D’Artagnan stood up and hesitated, then he picked up Ompra and settled her on Athos’ lap, briefly laying his hand on the man’s forearm. Athos smiled at him with gratitude and, d’Artagnan noticed, a glimpse of sadness in his eyes. Reluctantly, the young man joined the workers who were ready to start their day under his direction.

         Athos watched for a while, then, he let Ompra monopolise his attention, giving her small pieces of cheese which she swallowed without tasting, her pink tongue darting to catch them, her tail swiping the table where he had put her. The game lasted a few minutes, then Ompra decided that things could be more interesting in the surroundings of the infirmary and she asked to jump from the table.

         Athos freed her and she ran away, jumping in the wood chips. The swordsman stayed unmoving for a while, then, he looked around the whole courtyard. Everyone was busy. Porthos and Aramis hadn’t reappeared and d’Artagnan had his back towards him. Now was the right moment. He stood up, and headed to the archway with the firm intention of leaving this place where he was of no use … at least for today.

         At the same moment, d’Artagnan felt a stinging pain behind his knee and turned around abruptly.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_An hour earlier_ **

 

         Athos woke up to the loud voice of Captain Tréville shouting his orders to the men standing for morning muster. He had slept the whole night through. He knew that his brothers hadn’t abandoned him at night.

         D’Artagnan was with him during the first shift of the night and Aramis had probably taken the second shift, because next to his bed was some water, honey salve and a small bible, which Aramis had left on the chair. He had probably spent the last hours with him, but left for morning muster.

         Athos felt better than in days, no nightmares, no dizziness. The last night with his friends together at the  _ Wren _ was still in his mind. Their friendship meant so much to him.

 

_ Perhaps I can help with training the recruits later.  _ Athos hoped.

 

         He wanted to do something. He felt bored. Eagerly he stood up, cleaned himself and then put on his clothes. Next was his sword. His precious weapon was lying on a small desk. He went over and took it in his right hand. He felt the heavy instrument in his hands and how it bore him down. He shrugged and tried some easy fencing moves. But the second forced him to his knees. He felt a sharp pain in his back and afraid that he had pulled his stitches he let the sword drop onto the floor where it clattered loudly. Athos bent over, nearly dropped next to his weapon and suppressed a loud groan. Ompra, who had watched from the side of his bed started to bark in her high voice and ran next to him.

 

_ Yes, I know that was a stupid idea. _

 

         Athos anxiously felt with his hand for the wound in his back. He expected a bloody hand, but to his relief the stitches had stayed intact. Frustrated he sank back down on his bed, he buried his face in his hands as he suddenly thought that he would never be able to be a Musketeer and the finest swordsman of the regiment again.

 

_ How can I be of any help? My body is too weak, I can’t fight with my sword anymore and I doubt that riding on Roger will be any different. Even Tréville hasn’t said anything but that I am still not fit for duty ... _

 

         He totally forgot that his body simply needed time to regain his old strength. He was torn in his sad thoughts. After he sat there for about half an hour he finally forced himself to go and have breakfast.

 

_ The others will worry when I don’t appear. They must not know, but I need to consider  leaving  .. _ .

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_An hour later in Tréville’s office_ **

 

“How can we help you, Captain?” Aramis asked while standing with Porthos at ease position in front of Tréville’s desk.

 

         The Captain of the Musketeers looked from his desk up to both of his men. His exhausted blue eyes wandered from Aramis to Porthos before he asked:

 

“How is he?”

“Much better, Captain. He slept the whole night without waking from another nightmare.” Aramis told him.

“That could have been caused by the fact that we all went with him to the  _ Wren _ yesterday evening.” Porthos added. “He was obviously very tired when we brought him back and he fell asleep at once. His body still needs a lot of rest.”

“Did you find him alone in the  _ Wren _ ?” Captain Tréville feared that his Lieutenant had fallen back to old habits.

“No, we went there with him.” Porthos explained.

 

         Leaving out that he had watched Athos nearly entering an old and shabby tavern on his own, where they would have never found him, if he hadn’t followed him. Porthos was still not sure why Athos hesitated in going inside, but he felt proud of his older brother, that he had turned around.

 

“Yes, we wanted to celebrate with him that he is finally on the road to recovery.” Aramis added carefully.

Tréville was very well aware that they weren’t telling him everything. As usual the  _ Inséparables _ protected each other.

“And how is he this morning?” Tréville asked cautiously.

 

         He had observed his men while they had breakfast together and the big sadness he had registered in Athos’ eyes concerned him.

 

“That’s a good question.” Aramis sighed. “He …” He wanted to continue, but Porthos interrupted him.

“He needs a task, Captain. Something small, something which isn’t too exhausting for him, but where he can realise that he is still needed. That he still is a Musketeer, so no paperwork ...”

“I agree with Porthos, Captain.” Aramis couldn’t forget Athos melancholic glance in his eyes this morning. “In order to heal faster he needs something to do, but I am not sure, what this can be.”

“I had already thought the same, gentlemen but all my paperwork refers right now to what happened here in the past weeks and a report about Rochefort I will leave hidden in my desk until the right time comes to discuss this whole incident with the King and I don’t want to bother Athos with this. It’s still too early.”

“Perhaps Athos can help with the training of the recruits today.” Porthos suggested, but was stopped by Aramis.

“He is still not fit for duty, Porthos. Fighting with a sword is too exhausting and he could pull the stitches. I don’t want to see him in the infirmary that soon again.” He warned.

 

         Porthos rolled his eyes at Aramis. His medic friend was too overprotective.

 

“I didn’t mean that he should fight with a sword, but that he watches the training and gives some advice.”

“He will never do that, Porthos. He would be angry with us if we suggested that to him.” Aramis answered. “I think he still needs one to two days to return to light duty.”

“Alright, so still rest for our Lieutenant!” Tréville ordered, then he stood up and paced through his office.

 

         Porthos and Aramis watched him by following him pacing with their eyes. Suddenly he stopped next to them. He remembered the day when Athos had made it to his desk, while he was writing his report to the King. He remembered Athos’ thirst for helping somehow. He needed to give him a small job. Something that would show him that he was needed as a Musketeer and as a Lieutenant. He raised his bent head and turned to Porthos and Aramis.

 

“I have an idea. Why don’t you tell him to sit at the sidelines during the sword training this afternoon. He can observe our young recruits and give me a detailed report afterwards where they still need training.”

“That’s a really good idea!” Porthos exclaimed.

“He will know what you are trying to do.” Aramis cautiously added.

“Of course he will know.” Tréville grinned at both of them. “But he will ignore it.”

“Shall we tell him or will you tell him?” Aramis asked.

“I think it will be enough if you tell him. He can rest a little longer this morning and then have lunch with you later.” Tréville announced, while getting back behind his table. In a lower tone he added: “And make sure that he doesn’t go missing in a shabby tavern today. I fear that he’s on the run.” Tréville sighed. “And now you both are dismissed. You do know your tasks for the day.”

 

         After Aramis and Porthos had left his office, Tréville sighed loudly. He slowly stood up. Unaware he massaged his head to get rid of another nasty headache.

 

 _What can I do_ _to make you  feel better, Athos?_

_ I don’t like the way you look, your sad eyes. I want to have you back. _

_ I hope this small assignment will do you good. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


“Ompra! You stupid beast, what are you doing?” D’Artagnan shouted massaging his leg.

 

         Suddenly, he realised that if Ompra was there, alone, where …

 

“Ompra? Whe … wha …? He asked turning to the gate of the garrison. “Oh, no, no, no, Athos, don’t you dare!” He mumbled starting to run towards the man who was leaving with a firm step.

 

         Athos hastened his pace when he heard d’Artagnan, but the young man was faster and caught his elbow.

 

“Where are you going?” He asked a little too harshly.

 

         Athos turned around, his eyes blazing. He dislodged the young man’s hand and replied:

 

“It’s none of your business. Go back to work since you are fit for that.”

 

         D’Artagnan refused to move and for a few seconds they glared at each other, neither of them ready to surrender. At last, Athos sighed and asked:

 

“Why do you care?”

“What do you mean?” D’Artagnan murmured surprised and slightly hurt.

“I mean that you’ll go back to your life as a Musketeer because you are young, you are strong and you have recovered much faster than me, and you’ll let me live my life as a useless invalid.” Athos snapped bitterly.

“Athos, you just need time. You were poisoned and you fought it. Not everyone would have fought as you did.”

“I am old.” Athos whispered.

 

_ Can’t you see that d’Artagnan. I can’t serve as a Musketeer any longer. I don’t have the strength. My legs are weak, my hands are trembling. I can’t hold my sword anymore … the weight is too heavy and if I do so … my back hurts … and I need to pull myself together in order not to scream out loud. I can’t serve the King in my actual state. I am not sure if I will ever be fit and strong again … but if I have to serve today as palace guard I will collapse … all my honour will be taken away from me … all that I have left ... _

_ And then there is Rochefort … if I stay a Musketeer I’ll endanger you, my brothers, my comrades even strangers … _

_ I can’t d’Artagnan … my career is over … why can’t you simply see that and let me go? _

 

         He was about to leave -his head bowed, his shoulders hunched-, when d’Artagnan caught his arm again, squeezing it almost painfully.

 

“Don’t you dare, Athos!”

“Try me.” Athos replied his eyes darkened by anger.

“If you leave, they will kill me because I didn’t stop you.” He almost shouted as he pointed at Tréville’s office to show who ‘they’ were. “And … you are not useless. I … we … need you!” The young Gascon felt his eyes welling up and he blinked heavily.

 

         Athos froze and stretched his hands in front of him.

 

“But look at me, look at me! My fingers shake, I can’t even hold my sword properly. I have no strength. My legs are still betraying me and after a short walk I’m sweating heavily and panting for air. I can’t serve any longer as a King’s Musketeer. I am of no use to any of you ...”

 

         D’Artagnan sighed and let his hand slip from the man’s elbow to his pale hands. He squeezed his fingers briefly before letting go.

 

“I need you.” He whispered, lowering his eyes.

“Sorry?” Athos gasped unbelieving.

“I … for the infirmary …  I need …”

“No, you don’t. Both buildings are already standing again!” Athos snapped and turned again towards the gates but stayed where he was. “You don’t need me anymore. Why would you need me, anyway?” He mumbled more to himself, voice thick with emotion.

 

_ Let me go d’Artagnan … of all of my brothers, why are you the only one who can always convince me to do otherwise? Why can’t I ignore your plea? _

 

“Please. I need you, that’s all. Stay here … Please.” D’Artagnan pleaded further.

 

_ How can I convince you? How can I show you? How can I take your self-doubts from you? _

 

Athos bowed his head. D’Artagnan couldn’t see his expression and held his breath praying silently that the man would turn around and renounce his decision to leave.

 

“Very well.” Athos mumbled and looked at the young man who beamed at him.

“Besides, I need your help to tame the wild black beast who is currently gnawing at Armel’s glove, with Armel’s hand in it, of course.”

 

         Athos looked at the scene and let out a small amused sigh. D’Artagnan continued his cheerful speech.

 

“Then we are going to train the new recruits. Together. Do you hear me? Together. You’ll just have to watch and to advise from the sideline. No need to fight yet, it will come. Give it time, Athos!”

 

_ When your body is ready for it, you will do it. I’m sure ... _

 

“What a model for them!” Athos huffed. “How can I tutor them how to fight when I am unable to show it to them myself?”

“Athos, they admire you, and you know it, so stop looking for praises. Besides they know that you were poisoned and injured. No one will dare to make fun of you or question you.” D’Artagnan replied searching Athos’ eyes which were staring blankly at the puppy.

 

         At last, Athos looked at d’Artagnan with a serious expression and nodded.

 

“Alright.”

 

         They heard Armel cursing loudly and they decided that now was the time to go to the rescue of the poor old Musketeer. D’Artagnan was about to take Athos’ arm but he sensed that the gesture wouldn’t be welcomed yet, so he just walked beside him towards the infirmary, chatting endlessly about the building materials, about the rooms, the windows, Ompra, Gascony, the weather. Athos shook his head, trying to convince himself that he was irritated by this babbling, and being unable to hide his fond smile.

 

_ Maybe there is hope after all … _

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	85. En garde!

⚔⚔

 

         Athos was watching the new recruits being trained by older Musketeers. Amongst them, d’Artagnan took his role very seriously and the poor boy who was trying to follow his advice was red and sweaty. His long hair looked like rat tails flying in every directions as he tried to stay on his feet. Athos felt his uniform sticking to his back. He enjoyed the sun, the blue sky and being able to feel as a Musketeer again, but he was sweating under the leather.  He hadn’t eaten much during lunch but his stomach felt full. It was a strange feeling. He had never been a big eater, more a heavy drinker, but now, it seemed that his stomach had shrunk. Being fed with broth, tea and gruel for days hadn’t helped. He felt a nudge in his side and looked down at Ompra who sat very quietly next to him on the bench. It wasn’t the first time that she expressed her disapproval to his silence. Maybe she felt his sadness or his frustration. He stroke her silky fur and she shook her tail frantically.

 

“You are an apprentice Musketeers watchdog now, so be quiet and watch carefully.” He told her in a low voice.

 

         He couldn’t help but huff a soft laugh when a young recruit landed in a trough under the laughter of his comrades. Porthos’ boisterous laughter had undoubtedly been heard from the King’s bedroom.

 

         Athos looked at d’Artagnan. The young man’s style had improved a lot since he had met him for the first time. At the time, he was a reckless cheeky boy and now, well, he was still a cheeky boy, but he knew how to fight nimbly and elegantly. It was like a ballet. His wiry body was dancing, turning, twisting, flexible like the branch of a willow. Athos admired his ability to make his adversary become crazy and lose his balance.

         His hand instinctively reached for his sword. He tested the heavy hilt in the palm of his hand, reminding how difficult it had been to wield the weapon when he tried in his room, how difficult it had been to strap it to his belt. He felt his feet being invaded by ants, he flexed his fingers, the knuckles creaking. He knew what was happening. He needed to fight, he needed to wield his sword again. He felt in his muscles the lack of exercise of the last weeks but he also felt the need to make them work properly again. He had lost his strength and it was time to rebuild it. He became agitated, his right knee bouncing nervously and Ompra jumped from the bench. He looked down at her and tried to be sensible. He closed his eyes.

 

 _No, it isn’t a good idea. You promised to rest, Athos. If you do that, they will kill you. If you don’t kill yourself first._ He laughed inwardly.

 

         He could feel Porthos and Aramis’ eyes boring holes in his back and he was right. From their post under the balcony, the two worried Musketeers were frowning at his behaviour. They knew him too well. They knew how they would feel in his situation. Feigning indifference their eyes kept juggling between Athos and the training recruits.

 

“Mmmh …” Porthos growled.

“What?” Aramis asked.

“Nothing.”

“You said _mmmh_. Something is bothering you.”

“The same thing as is bothering you.”

 

         Aramis understood and stayed silent continuing to watch the scene.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“You are dead!”

 

         The voice was serious, stern and hushed. Athos looked up from the bench where he had sat down half an hour earlier, basking in the sunshine, the warmth numbing his back where he sometimes felt a slight pain, and the light brightening his mood. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of his sword which laid on the table, shining under the sun rays, and his fingers clenched intermittently as if ready to take part to a fight.

 

“You should have been more careful …”  

 

         The voice came again, this time bearing a slight tinge of teasing or irritation, Athos couldn’t tell. He smiled at the sight in front of him. A few feet away from the bench, d’Artagnan had the tip of his sword pressed against the throat of a young recruit who was lying spread eagle on his back in the dust.

 

“I did as you told me, Sir.”

“You did as you thought I had told you. Can’t you just concentrate on your task?”

 

         Athos smile widened. D’Artagnan was obviously -if unconsciously- imitating his own tone of voice. The young man looked up from his victim at Athos who sobered and composed himself a very serious Lieutenant’s face. He could see that d’Artagnan wanted him to help, because the young Gascon knew that he needed to feel useful, to feel as a Musketeer again, but at the same time d’Artagnan feared that he would intervene physically and worsen his pain. He himself was sweating heavily and Athos didn’t miss the occasional grimace when a move pulled on his still fresh wound.

 

_Be careful d’Artagnan. Aramis won’t be happy to stitch you again and I don’t want to see you in such pain ever again, my little brother._

 

         D’Artagnan turned his attention back to the frightened recruit who hadn’t moved.

 

“Get up. Try again and this time use your wrist as I explained, don’t be so stiff!”

 

         The boy stood up clumsily and readied himself trying to do his best, but once again, d’Artagnan made a graceful move, turning on himself, his sword swirled and the recruit landed again onto the floor. When he opened his eyes, he saw, through the cloud of dust, the figure of the most impressive of the _Inséparables_ , towering over him and looking down at him with his piercing green eyes.

 

“We will show you.” Athos told him, exaggerating his commanding tone.

 

_God, I hope I will have enough strength to really show him ..._

 

         The young recruit stood up as if he had hot embers under his feet and bowed with a self-conscious:

 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Athos, are you sure …” D’Artagnan began. “You could hurt yourself … er … it’s …”

“D’Artagnan, please.” Athos replied cocking his head with a lopsided smile and with enough irony and challenge in his tone to make the young man accept his proposition with a large grin.

“Watch carefully, Isaac, then, it will be your turn again.” Athos told the young man who stared at them with wide eyes.

 

         Aramis and Porthos had stopped their current activity -namely lazily sharing a bowl of sugary strawberries, that Porthos had stolen from Serge’s kitchen when he wasn’t there- while watching the various groups of sparring Musketeers. They were leaning against each side of the same pillar and were nodding approvingly or shaking their heads disapprovingly following what was happening before them.

 

         When Aramis saw that Athos and d’Artagnan were about to fight, he straightened worryingly, leaving the shadow of the balcony.

 

“What are they doing?” He whispered ready to intervene.

 

         Porthos caught his elbow to stop him.

 

“Don’t!” He warned his friend.

“But …”

“But nothing. It’s a good thing for both of them.”

“A good thing?” Aramis exclaimed, hands on his hips as he turned around to scowl at Porthos.

“Don’t look at me like that, you can’t scare me Aramis, I am a Musketeer.” Porthos laughed. “And so is Athos and that’s the whole purpose of this fight, can’t you understand that? Our young Gascon is obviously cleverer than you.”

“But he is still convalescing. What was d’Artagnan thinking when he involved him in this stupid sword fight?” Aramis shouted angrily.

 

         The first clang of swords made them jump and Aramis took a step forward, while Ompra, who had sat quietly surprised by her master’s behaviour, took a step backwards.

 

“Come back here, Aramis, and be quiet.” Porthos drew him back under the balcony. “D’Artagnan lured him into this training only to show him that he is still a Musketeer.”

 

         Aramis sighed with resignation and watched the fight which was becoming more heated as time went on. Isaac had finally decided to sit down on the bench freed by Athos and he watched in awe, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. Ompra was now under the balcony behind Aramis, watching the scene between his calves. A particularly violent attack and the loud cries of effort accompanying it made the poor puppy jump and she ran upstairs where she tried to find her way into one of the rooms. No one saw her trying to sneak into Tréville’s office whose door was slightly ajar, but not open enough for her strength. She began to claw at the thick wood, whimpering with fear.  Their wounds and pains forgotten, the two men were engaged in a ferocious dance, sliding against each other, turning gracefully around each other, sharing daring looks and happy smiles. Their blades were clanging and striking sparks under the force of their blows. It was like a whirlpool of metal, muscles and sweat but the most important thing that everyone noticed -because the other Musketeers had stopped their activity to watch intently- was that both men’s faces were graced by a bright smile.

    Suddenly, d’Artagnan turned his wrist in a graceful movement and Athos ducked to avoid his blade. He stumbled, putting a hand onto his back with a grimace, but quickly regained his composure.

 

_Ahh … I should be more careful … Aramis will kill me, if … but it feels so good ..._

 

“Mind my needlework!” Aramis winced fearing that his brother had hurt himself furthermore.

 

         Porthos clapped him on the back with a loud laugh.

 

“Not sure that poor Isaac can understand anything!” Porthos laughed.

 

         Athos lunged forward and d’Artagnan had to jump to escape the tip of Athos’ sword and he bent forwards when the movement took him by surprise and pulled on his still fragile hip. Athos approached him and took his elbow with a questioning look.

 

“Are you alright?” He mouthed as he helped him to straighten.

 

         D’Artagnan nodded and with a wicked grin, he said in a loud voice:

 

“ _En garde_!”

 

         Athos parried the blow effectively but Aramis and Porthos noticed that his movements were slower and his face paler. D’Artagnan hid, behind his juvenile arrogance, the fact that he was beginning to become tired.

 

“You know the purpose of this fight, Aramis?” Porthos suddenly asked.

“Yes, you told me.”

“Nah, not that, I was wrong. The real purpose I mean. I am sure that they want to be the first ones to use the new infirmary.” Porthos answered before bursting in his famous boisterous laughter.

 

         Suddenly, a loud voice thundered from above their heads.    

 

“What do you think you are doing?” Tréville shouted angrily.

 

         Aramis and Porthos raised their heads but they weren’t the only ones to do it. The two fighters were surprised and as Athos who had his back towards the balcony suddenly turned around to look up at his Captain, the movement made him lose his balance and he stumbled over his own feet landing on the hard ground. D’Artagnan stood still not knowing how to react. Aramis was about to run, but Porthos restrained him:

 

“Let him do it on his own.”

 

         Athos grimaced a little but managed to stand up using his sword as a walking stick. He took a few steps towards d’Artagnan and they shook hands with a bright smile.

 

“Someone told me once something like … head over heart … You were distracted by a simple shout, Athos ...” The Gascon mocked after he was sure that Athos was really alright.

“Cheeky boy!” Athos replied slapping d’Artagnan on the shoulder before turning towards his Captain who was shaking his head unbelievingly.

 

_I don’t want to see you in the infirmary again, Athos. Take your time to heal boy ..._

 

         Tréville turned around and entered his office, slamming the door behind him, leaving a confused Ompra on the threshold. The young dog waited a minute then she returned into the courtyard, looking for her master. The Musketeers suddenly applauded the two swordsmen ignoring their Captain’s reaction. Porthos and Aramis joined them with cups and a jug of water and they all gathered around their favourite table, completely forgetting Isaac who stood up reverently.

 

“I think that our Captain isn’t satisfied with the way you see your convalescence, gentlemen.” Porthos said looking up at the now empty balcony.

“I am sure that he is secretly reassured and glad to see them fit again.” Aramis smiled.

 

         Then they chatted casually sharing the remaining strawberries and enjoying a perfect moment of friendship.

 

“Oh!” D’Artagnan exclaimed suddenly, standing up and clapping a hand to his mouth.

“What?” Porthos asked.

“The Captain had asked me to report after the training. He will kill me.”

“I’ll come with you if you want, but don’t ask me to help you with the horses afterwards, it’s a chore for lads not for seasoned soldiers.” Porthos announced with a big smile and a clap on his friend’s back.

 

         The young man stumbled and Aramis burst out laughing. A sound came out of Athos’ mouth which was the closest thing to a laugh they had heard in days.

         Aramis and Athos stayed silent as they watched their brothers leave. Aramis was agitated and couldn’t help but throw worried glances at his friend.

 

“What?” Athos asked with fake irritation.

“Are you sure you are well? You are covered in sweat, you should drink something. At least take off your jacket or open your shirt a little more?”

 

         Athos’ lips curled in a half smile.

 

“What?” Aramis asked while unconsciously twisting his moustache between two deft fingers.

“I am not like you Aramis, always parading in shirtsleeves to seduce the ladies.”

“You wound me my dear.” Aramis exclaimed, his right hand on his chest.

“My apologies.”

“Apologies accepted. You know, women love the sight of a sweating hero and a rather well defined muscular chest.”

“Do you see a woman in this courtyard? The only one we can find is a very hairy brunette, she bites a lot and hides under the furniture of my room.”

“True, but if a damsel in distress comes to beg for help!”

“Aramis, you are incorrigible. How can sweat be attractive?”

“Believe me, it is.” He made a short pause before becoming serious again. “Well, answer me now, are you sure you are well?”

“I am fine.” Athos answered with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Athos!” Aramis chided.

“I am very well and … happy.”

“Oh!” Aramis whispered. “Do you need something?”

“No thank you, my friend. I just need you to allow me to stay alone on this bench. I want to enjoy life again, to breathe in the summer air, to watch my comrades work, to feel …”

“Independent? Alright, but be sensible, if you don’t feel well, call someone. I want to know immediately.”

“Agreed, doctor.” Athos smiled.

 

         So reluctantly and almost marching backwards to make sure that he wasn’t making a big mistake, Aramis left Athos in the courtyard.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Several minutes earlier_ **

 

         Captain Tréville heard an odd sound, a soft scratching at his door. Confused he looked up from his desk and listened into the silence. There it was again, now followed by a high whimpering of a dog.

 

_Ompra, shouldn’t you be somewhere else? Why is the dog coming to my office … d’Artagnan … he should train her better, if she’s to become a watchdog for our garrison. I fear that this animal will instead become a lapdog worthy of the Queen’s parlour._

 

         He listened. Besides the noises of the dog, he heard something else. The clashing of swords. A sound his ears were used to, but besides the two swords he didn’t hear any other noises, no voices, no bird song.

 

_This can’t be …_

 

         Tréville jumped up from his stool and rushed over to his door nearly falling over little Ompra who looked up at him with worry in her big black eyes. Not sure of what was going on. With fast steps he approached the balcony and froze.

 

_What the hell are they doing there? My strict order was only observing the training nothing more. Why isn’t Aramis already separating them?_

 

         For a while, he observed Athos and d’Artagnan fighting. When he realised that Athos’ strength left him he decided to end the whole spectacle. He didn’t want to see him getting hurt, but his loud and angry shout caused the opposite of what he had intended. Startled by his harsh shout, Athos slipped over a stone, stumbled and collapsed on the dirty and hard ground. Tréville screwed up his face wincing in sympathy and watched horrified as his Lieutenant fought hard to stand up on his own. Complete silence hung in the air. He could see Aramis wanting to run to help Athos but Porthos’ strong arms were holding him back.

 

_Porthos, you are right, he needs to stand up on his own._

 

         When Athos finally stood with both feet on the ground again and shaking hands with d’Artagnan. He considered for one second ordering both stubborn men into his office, but then he decided against it. For a moment he could see both of his men content and in Athos’ eyes he could see that the young man was finally back to himself. Of course he had ignored a direct order, but he hadn’t given it to him personally, so Aramis or Porthos would tell him -in order to protect their brother- that they had given Athos the wrong information. The only thing he could do to show his disapproval was to slam the door of his office shut. This noise was followed by loud applause from his men in the courtyard.

 

         Tréville stared at his office, first at his bed, then at his desk. His angry face didn’t last long and his lips curled upward in a bright smile which erased his deep frown.

 

_You are back Athos … not that you have been away … but you are back._

_Lemay will check on you tomorrow and on Monday you will start with light work again._

_It’s about time …_

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	86. Alive, alive and whole again.

_ Alive, alive and whole again. _

 

         These were his first sensations. Alive, whole and sore, but it was this soreness which made him realise that he was alive. Athos could feel each muscle, each joint, each nerve. It was disappointing in a way, because it had been a very short fight and he shouldn’t have felt so much pain, but he knew that his body had to learn again how to work. He stretched his arms, his legs and curled and uncurled his fingers. He spread his hands at eye level. He noticed a slight tremor in his fingers but he tried to reassure himself.

 

_ It’s normal, I have to rebuild my muscles, my sword is heavy.  _

 

         He put his hands on his lower back and arched backwards to stretch his spine but a sudden pain in his wound reminded him that the expression  _ whole again _ had been a little too presumptuous. Suddenly he felt a lump growing in his throat and tried to calm himself. The latent fear of being unable to be a Musketeers again choked him for a few minutes. His surroundings became blurred and he preferred to close his eyes and forget the world around him.

 

_ I must fight against that, I must fight against my weakness, against my fear. I must fight, that’s all. _

 

         He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them again it was as if the world around him was behind a panel of blown glass. Even the sounds seemed muffled. The Musketeers and recruits who were busy in the courtyard seemed to move slowly. He shook his head to chase away the feeling and tried to concentrate again on his body, on the memory of that wonderful moment he had shared with d’Artagnan. The happiness and pride on his young brother’s face was the most beautiful, encouraging and endearing thing he had seen in days. His big brown eyes were shining and a bright smile hadn’t left his face until he had seen him on the floor. All the colours had drained his tanned cheeks at that moment but the young man had quickly pulled himself together and managed to rein in his own fear in order to let him know that he was strong enough to stand up without help.  Athos rubbed at his face and covered it with his hands, bent forwards, his elbows on his knees. His shirt clung to his skin under the bright sun rays. He straightened and opened his eyes. The world around him began to become normal again. D’Artagnan was nowhere to be seen and he wondered where Aramis and Porthos could be until a low voice whispered in his ear.

 

“Athos, don’t you think that your pale skin will suffer from this exposure to such a fierce sun.”

“Porthos, you are speaking like Aramis again. You shouldn’t spend so much time with him.” Athos drawled without looking up.

“Go and rest, you stubborn old man. Is that better?”

 

         Athos turned around to look at him with a half smile.

 

“I am not tired.”

“Obviously.”

“Porthos, stop considering me as an invalid.” Athos replied sharply, a shadow darkening his eyes.

 

         Porthos sat down next to him on their favourite bench.

 

“You are not an invalid, you …”

“No? So why can’t you stop telling me to rest, to sleep, to eat!” He snarled, looking into Porthos’ eyes with a daring expression.

 

         Porthos’ face fell. He’d already gone to stand up when Athos caught his wrist.

 

“I’m sorry, Porthos. I need rest. You are right, I am an inva…”

“Did I say such a thing?” Porthos countered bitterly.

 

         However, he sat down again but tried not to cross Athos’ angry eyes, looking down at the dusty tip of his boots. Athos hadn’t let go of his wrist and the touch became suddenly more gentle. Porthos raised his head and looked at him with an interrogative expression, lifting his eyebrows so high that they nearly touched his hairline. Athos huffed a hushed snort and smiled again.

 

“Sorry. It was unfair. You are right, I need rest. I just fear that …”

 

         His fingers clenched on Porthos’ wrist again who covered them with his other hand.

 

“Hey, what do you fear? See how your state improved in such a short time! You will be the good old Athos again in no time. Just be patient. You did well during this fight. I recognise my brother, the fierce warrior. You are back.”

 

_ I still need to convince myself of that fact, Porthos. My mind wants to be back, but my body tells me otherwise. Can’t you see that, Porthos? _

 

         Porthos removed his hand from Athos’ fingers and the latter missed the calming touch, but he let go of his friend’s wrist. He was a man, a Musketeer, not a child needing comfort and reassurance. They stayed silent for a while, breathing in the mixed odours of the courtyard, watching a group of sparrows which were enjoying a bath of dust …

 

“Would you mind accompanying me?” Athos whispered.

“Where?” Porthos asked naively.

“I am a very obedient patient, you know. I will rest, but maybe I could do with a little company just in case my old body feels the need to betray me.”

 

         These words said, Athos stood up slowly, stretched his back and waited for Porthos to follow him. Porthos laughed and fondly ruffled Athos’ hair with a mischievous smile.

 

“Let’s go, old man.”

 

“Porthos.” Athos chided, a gentle smile gracing his features.

 

         Then he began to slowly make his way towards his room, with a very attentive Porthos who kept a hand beneath his friend’s elbow,   _ just in case _ …

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         As soon as Athos entered his room Porthos rushed to help him out of his heavy jacket. He helped him to unbuckle his belts and to remove his boots. Athos endured the process without complaining and he managed not to roll his eyes too often. Once he was in his shirtsleeves, he laid down on his bed with a satisfied sigh and closed his eyes. When he didn’t hear the slightest noise, he deduced that Porthos hadn’t left, so he opened his eyes and looked at his friend. The big Musketeer was shifting from one foot to another, clearly uneasy.

 

“I …” He began.

“You what?” Athos asked.

“You will tell me again that I am like Aramis but …”

“But what?” Athos replied in his most noble tone.

“I think it would be … er … Can I check on your wound?”

“Indeed, you are turning into a giant Aramis?” Athos smiled.

“Stop teasing me, I am worried.”

“I know.” Athos reassured him all the while rolling over to expose his back.

 

         At that moment, the door burst open to let a very nervous Aramis enter the room.

 

“How is he?”

“He is fine.” Athos answered rolling over to lie on his back again, watching the newcomer with a mocking expression.

 

         Aramis ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair before hurrying to Athos’ side, his hands on his hips in a menacing stance.

 

“You know that you are reckless, insufferable, impatient, impetuous …”

“Is that all?” Athos asked unable to hide his smile.

“No, it isn’t. You will make us age prematurely and if you don’t manage to kill yourself because of your foolishness, you will kill us!” Aramis shouted.

“Aramis, don’t you think that this scene is a little too … excessive?” Athos drawled.

 

         Seeing his friend’s expression, the glint of mischievousness in the grey-green irises, Aramis calmed down, and sighing deeply, he smiled.

 

“Sorry, when I couldn’t find you in the courtyard, I was …”

“Worried? I know. Porthos played the same scene, although with less  _ panache, _ a moment ago.” Athos said. “I suppose that you want to see my wound? It seems to be an amazing sight as you all want to see it.”

 

         Athos positioned himself on his stomach to let Aramis check on him. The medic worked in silence, with meticulous gestures and light touches. It didn’t last long but Athos’ eyelids were already beginning to close when Aramis announced, straightening his back.

 

“Anything else I should worry about?” Aramis asked suspiciously.

“Like what?” Athos asked annoyed.

“Do you feel dizzy, nauseous, or …”

“No, Aramis.” Athos replied with a menacing expression.

“So everything is fine.”

“Isn’t that what I told you five minutes ago?”

“He is right, Athos, you are insufferable.” Porthos chuckled.

“So insufferable that we will abandon you, right now.” Aramis laughed, then more seriously he approached his friend again and laying a hand on his shoulder he bent to whisper.

“Everything will be alright very soon, rest now, sleep well, we are not far.”

 

         Athos closed his eyes with a smile plastered on his face which was a lot less pale, the sun having slightly coloured his cheeks.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         Queen Anne couldn’t stop laughing. She held a letter in her hand and giggled first then she exploded with laughter, which was heard in the palace garden. Constance who was busy next to her with little Louis turned her head around. She was surprised. The Queen smiled a lot, but she rarely displayed such a loud cheerfulness. It was something forbidden by good manners at the Court, but they were alone in this part of the garden and the Queen was just a very young woman when she was with her favourite lady in waiting.

 

“What is it your Majesty?”

“Here, see by yourself.” Anne handed her the letter, which had obviously made her so joyous.

“What does the letter say?” Constance was still busy playing a game with the Dauphin and couldn’t reach the letter.

“Oh it’s from Christine. My sister-in-law has returned safely to Savoy, but not the thousands of flowers her husband ordered for her.

“I could have told him that earlier!” Constance shook amused her head. “They must have all wilted during their journey back. It’s simply too hot.”

“Thus, he spent a fortune for nothing.” Queen Anne still tried to muffle her laugh. “He even had a page in charge of watering them in the wagon.”

“Well, at least he tried to surprise his wife.” Constance said to the Queen. “That’s a very lovely gesture. I didn’t think that he would be capable of doing something like that.”

“Yes, I know, he wanted to surprise Christine, but she already had an idea what he was up to and where he was going.” Anne explained. “Come, let’s go inside. It’s really hot out here this afternoon.”

 

         While both women returned to the Palace, Rochefort watched them from above. He looked out of one of the palace windows.

 

_One day … very soon … I will live_ _with the love of my life. Then I will be King and she will be my Queen. The revenge against Athos has to wait. There are more important affairs first._ _I can always order his death as soon as I am the new King of France and with him his brothers shall die too. Under my regency there won’t be any Musketeers left! This regiment will die and with it, his “most admired and respected members,” according to this foolish King._

 

"Ha … ha … ha ..."

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         His forehead pressed against the panel of his window, Athos watched the night slowly flooding each corner of the courtyard. He realised that, for the first time in days, he felt himself, not a spectator of his own life, but a living mind in a living body. He was sore, of course, but alive, useful and needed. He raised his eyes towards the patch of sky he could see between the roofs. It was a darker blue now, not quite black yet, fading in azure tinged with shades of orange and pink where it dove behind the dark walls. He watched for a while the ballet of small bats until his eyelids burnt. He turned around and let his eyes wander around his room. He took a few steps towards his small desk where the letters he had received were carefully stacked. He took the one at the top, read the neat almost childish handwriting, sighed and put it down again. He went to his chest, lifted the heavy lid and closed it again the next moment. He had awoken a moment before, too hot to stay in bed and feeling restless. He needed to move, to walk. The dusk was quiet and the silence only disturbed by the usual sounds of the nightlife. An owl cried somewhere with a squeaking noise, he listened to the reedy voices of toads hidden in the cemetery enjoying the relative freshness of the evening and waiting for the dew which would soon form on the vegetation.

 

         Calm. He felt calm, although not quite serene if he thought too much. There was something dark somewhere in his mind, something he didn’t want to even recognise right now. He wanted to be peaceful,  _ just tonight _ . He massaged his right forearm and his biceps. Wielding a sword had printed its mark in his muscles but it felt good. He sat down on his bed, where Ompra didn’t even flinch, curled up in a tight ball on the crumpled blanket, and reached for a small volume which had been left on his bedside table. He opened it and smiled.

 

_ Aramis, really, a bible.  _ He laughed inwardly.

 

         He hadn’t even noticed when his friend had put it there. He closed it and kept it a moment in his hands, caressing the smooth dark purple leather. Putting it down again, he stood up and went to his table to pour himself a glass of water.  _ Water!  _ He snorted. His first instinct had been to drink water. This illness had obviously transformed him. He then went to his dressing table and poured water in his basin. He plunged the tip of  his fingers into the tepid liquid, drawing spirals and watching the waves which formed at the surface, when a barely audible cracking sound made him flinch. He turned around and waited. Ompra was still asleep. Odd, because she always reacted when a danger approached. Another sound and he realised that there was someone in the stairs, someone who wanted to be discreet. Instinctively, Athos reached a hand towards his pistol. A single knock at the door announced the newcomer. Athos looked at Ompra, noticed  her waggly tail and smiled.

 

“Come in.” He said reassured pulling his hand away from the pistol.

 

         The young watchdog’s body language was readable enough and Athos knew that the presence behind the door was not menacing. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited with a half smile. The door cracked open and a young face appeared, hesitating on the threshold.

 

“Please, d’Artagnan, come in.”

 

         The young man, in shirtsleeves, without weapons, looked even younger, and Athos felt a wave of affection warm his chest. His features had changed since he had met him for the first time, but he was still so young. There were ten years between them and if it could go unnoticed during the most fierce of fights, it was more obvious in moments like this one.

 

“I … wanted .. .I’m sorry, if … er.”

“Mmh?” Athos mumbled raising an eyebrow.

“How are you?”

 

         Athos uncrossed his arms, letting them fall at his sides, and sighed.

 

“Tell me, do I have to spend the rest of my life hearing this question?”

“I am afraid I will spend the rest of mine asking it, so … yes ...” D’Artagnan nodded sheepishly.

“Now, did you plan to stay on my threshold the whole night or did you have something else in mind? A glass of … er … water … or ...”  Athos made a pause his eyes searching the room. “Or a glass of water?” He smiled brightly - in Athos’ way, that is to say, his upper lip curled upward making his eyes sparkle.

 

         D’Artagnan took a step into the room and silently closed the door.

 

“I am not sure … if … if it was a good idea … I don’t know if you will like it …”

 

Athos leaned against the dressing table and crossed his arms and his legs in a casual stance, waiting for d’Artagnan to find his words. Of course, the green mischievous eyes staring at him didn’t help the young man.

 

“I … I have something for you. If you … don’t … If you don’t want it … it’s fine … I …”

 

He fell silent again, his left hand still hiding something behind his back.

 

“You look like a schoolboy about to run away from a punishment.” Athos drawled gently.

“What do you mean by that?” D’Artagnan replied with a daring expression in his eyes which only managed to make him look younger.

“Come and sit down. Let’s talk?” Athos proposed pulling a chair for the young man who was now shifting from one foot to another.

 

         Without thinking more, d’Artagnan closed the gap between them and with a swift move, handed Athos a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper and carefully tied with a thin string. Athos’ eyes widened, he raised his eyebrows and took the parcel. D’Artagnan waited with an anxious look, nervously rubbing the nape of his neck. Still standing, Athos unwrapped the parcel and … dropped to the chair with an unreadable expression. His face was paler and his fingers shook when he unfolded his old scarf which had been expertly repaired and carefully cleaned.

 

“I’m sorry, Athos … I should have …” D’Artagnan stammered reaching for the scarf ready to take it back.

 

         Athos caught his wrist and squeezed it in a vice grip, his eyes looking straight into the young man’s dark irises. The flickering light of the candle, which Athos had lit and placed on the table, made their eyes shine as they stared at each other, trying to read the other one’s thoughts.

 

“I’m sorry, Athos. It was stupid.” D’Artagnan murmured at last, tugging to free his hand.

“What are you talking about?” Athos whispered, laying the scarf on the table and standing up without letting go of the young man’s wrist.

 

         D’Artagnan had his eyes lowered, his whole body was taut as if ready to flee the room, his attitude the one of a trapped animal.

 

“I … I don’t know what to say, this scarf … ” Athos whispered at last. 

“I shouldn’t have done this. It reminds you of such dreadful memories. I am so stupid.”

 

         Athos noticed that the boy was on the verge of tears so he let his hand slide up his elbow, almost supporting him.

 

“It reminds me of wonderful memories, d’Artagnan, memories of my childhood, memories of your courage, of what you did.” 

 

         Athos paused and let his hand wander over the repaired, soft fabric, enjoying the touch for a moment and feeling overwhelmed by his brother’s friendship. Then he continued searching d’Artagnan’s eyes: 

 

“You erased the bad memories and I am grateful for that.”

 

         D’Artagnan dared to raise his head and looked at his mentor. A lone tear hung to his eyelashes and trembled before rolling down his cheek. Athos didn’t take his eyes off him trying to muster all his gratitude and love in this one look. D’Artagnan’s mouth curled downward and he caught his lower lip between his teeth. Athos recognised this expression  which he had seen too many times on the still boyish features and he lifted his hand, let it suspended in the air for half a second before wiping the tear.

 

“You did well d’Artagnan,” -again Athos paused searching for the right words-  “... you know me well ... you knew that this old piece of fabric was precious to me, that I missed it. I can’t express my gratitude as I would wish.” He made a pause, breathing deeply once again fighting  this day of emotions, before murmuring his. “Thank you.”

 

         The moment was awkward, and none of them knew how they should behave, what they should say. D’Artagnan lowered his head again. Athos couldn’t see his expression and when the young man’s frame began to shake he stiffened, certain that he had failed to reassure him, but the Gascon didn’t shake from sobs. It was a big laugh which was born in his heart and was ready to burst. All shyness forgotten, he laid his forehead on his big brother’s shoulder, laughing out loud this time, his whole body shaking. Athos, hesitated for a second before lifting a hand and squeezing his nape, while a smile stayed a little longer than usual on his lips.

 

“I am ridiculous, Athos, I’m sorry.” He mumbled in the folds of his friend’s shirt.

“Don’t … Don’t apologise again, please, or you will be actually ridiculous.” Athos quietly said in his hair. “Thank you, my friend, thank you so much.”

 

         D’Artagnan’s mirth calmed a little and they stayed like that for a minute more.

 

“Still on for a delicious glass of tepid water, young man?”

 

D’Artagnan snorted:

 

“To hear you saying that sounds odd.” He smiled sheepishly.

 

         Then they pulled apart and sat down to share the best glass of water they had drunk in months, chatting casually, exchanging memories. Athos had wound his old scarf loosely around his neck and for the first time since his illness, he was truly himself and d’Artagnan couldn’t help but stare at him with amazed eyes while Athos couldn’t help but gently smile back, grateful that this young man had entered his life and changed it to the better.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	87. Bad News?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyeux Noël à tous !

⚔⚔

 

**_Sunday, 15th June_ **

 

“Alright Athos, can you please lie down on your stomach, I need to check your wound.” Lemay asked the Lieutenant who was sitting uneasily on the edge of a small bed in the rebuilt infirmary. He could still smell the fresh wood. Next to Doctor Lemay, there was Aramis, who had insisted that the doctor should check over Athos in the new building. Reluctantly, Athos had followed both men slowing down the nearer they came to the place, where Porthos had carried him out of the flames.

        He tried to ignore the images that were appearing before his inner eye and concentrate on Doctor Lemay’s questions instead, which he directed to Aramis and not to him, how their “patient” -he meant him- had improved during the past days. He could hear the doctor asking questions about his improvement, with words like:  _ no sign of infection, pain in his back, dizziness, chest pain _ , were reaching his ear, to which Aramis answered. Athos wondered if it would make any difference, if he had told them that he was not unconscious, moreover lying awake in front of them, but he stayed quiet. He was too grateful that the doctor had helped to save his life. Without protest, Athos laid down on his belly now. He felt the soft mattress which was filled with hay sinking under his weight and he noticed cold hands on his back, lifting his shirt. Of course he could have taken it off at first, because now it was Aramis who started to fuss over him and pull it over his head, while the cold fingers of the doctor were still prodding over his healed wound. He felt a slight itching while Lemay started to test if the wound had really healed.

 

“Do you feel any pain, Athos?” Lemay asked without looking up.

“Only a mild itching, but I think it is normal.”

“Yes, yes … this wound will probably still be painful in the following days. How was the pain level during the last week?” He asked curiously.

“Sometimes I felt a stabbing pain in my back.”

“Do you still feel this pain, now?”

“It has lessened, why? Should I be worried?” Athos turned his head towards Aramis and fixed his eyes with a concerned glance in his own, which the medic registered at once.

“No, no, the stabbing pain is normal. I think the knife has wounded some muscles and nerves tissue, which have to adhere again. This will take a while.”

“How long?” Athos mumbled.

 

        He now pressed his head against the pillow and feared that the doctor would tell him, that he wouldn’t ever able to serve as a Musketeer again due to this injury.

 

“Hmm .. probably several weeks. The more you practice the better. Aramis, can show you some exercises and train with you. The more you work with your sword, the faster it will heal.” 

 

        Athos sighed relieved.

 

“Aramis, I think the wound has healed properly enough, so that we can remove the thread from his back.”

“Now? That soon?” Athos asked a little confused.

“It’s about time.” Lemay answered him, while putting a hand on Athos’ left shoulder. “You were lucky that the wound wasn’t infected. The longer the thread stays in the more probable the risk of infection can set in and we all want to avoid that. I have checked the scar on your back and the thread can be removed. Aramis’ honey salve is a wonder remedy. It helped to remove the rash on your chest as well.”

 

        Lemay turned to Aramis.

 

“Aramis, do you want to remove the thread or shall I do it, I have all instruments with me.”

 

        Aramis nodded softly.

 

“Athos, shall I do it? I have stitched you, so now I can reverse my work.” He tried to grin at his brother, who now turned his head in his direction.

 

        Aramis tried to ignore the thought of the pleading voice of his brother as he had begged him to sew him a second time.

 

“Yes, please do it.” Athos answered softly.   

 

        He felt a lump building in his throat and was glad that besides Lemay, only Aramis was there. Athos felt Aramis’ warm hands on his back. Like the doctor, he prodded the edges of the stab wound to see if it was really safe to remove the thread. Then he turned around, walked over to a small table where hot water was waiting in a small basin and he washed his hands. In the meantime doctor Lemay put all instruments in a second bowl with hot water. Aramis waited a few minutes. Then he returned to Athos. He could sense the tension in Athos’ whole body. His friend had closed his eyes and mumbled a _“Just do it!”_

 

“It will sting a little, but compared to the pain your body had to endure the last two weeks it’s nothing.” Aramis softly told him.

 

        Lemay handed him the bowl and Aramis took first the _pincette_ to get hold of the thread. Then he cut it with small scissors and pulled it with the help of the pincette out of Athos’ back in a fast movement. He repeated the process a second time to remove the other part of the thread. Athos squeezed his eyes shut, but didn’t say a word and suppressed a soft moan. Aramis had been right. It had barely hurt. Now he could feel Aramis’ warm fingers, checking if he had retrieved all of the thread. After the medic was sure everything was gone, he put some more honey salve on the now irritated skin and bandaged the wound again.

 

“All done, it’s only a small scar.” He wanted to add a joke  _ thanks to my fine stitching  _ but he decided against it, because he felt Athos’ agitation.

“What is it?” He softly asked instead.

“Am I allowed to return to light duty?” Athos asked. “I need to work again to distract my mind.”

“I will give your Captain the advice to do so. You need to start rebuilding your strength and the best way that you can do this is with training. But don’t overdo it. I don’t want to see you in this infirmary again soon!”

“What else?” Athos wanted to know.

“Well, as you have observed already for yourself you have lost quite an amount of weight. You need to eat and drink enough water on a regular basis, but I am sure, that Aramis will have a keen eye on this.” He smiled.

“So, fit for light duty, training, eating and drinking. I think this will be an easy task, I can follow.” Athos wanted to turn on his back and sit up, but Aramis pushed him back.

“Wait a little longer in this position, rest, sleep. I will fetch Tréville, he wanted to be informed by the doctor about your well-being, but he had to go earlier to the palace. Perhaps he has returned by now.”

“Great, do you think I will stay in this position?” Athos turned around angrily, before Aramis hands could stop him he moved in order to get up. He felt a dull stabbing pain in his back as he shifted his body on the mattress.” He groaned softly and both Lemay and Aramis had to grin.

“You knew that …” Athos groaned angrily.

“I warned you! The skin around the wound is still irritated, that’s why I wanted you to rest a little longer on your belly, but you didn’t want to listen.” Aramis chided him, while laughing.

 

        Athos sat up on the soft mattress.

 

“I think I can rest in my room just as well.” He announced gruffly. “The Captain will be happy to hear the result from you doctor and if he hears that I am resting in my room, he won’t worry. With me in the infirmary, sleeping on my stomach he will worry, and I want to spare him that.” Athos pulled his shirt over, ignoring Aramis helping hands and slowly left the infirmary with a  _ “Thank you, doctor.” _

“He’s definitely better,” Lemay laughed as he looked behind Athos, who walked slowly, but without swaying over the courtyard. A little black cannonball raced out of the shades and followed him.

“Yes, he is and I’m grateful for that.” Aramis sighed and grinned too.

“What about his panic attacks?” Lemay asked.

“Much better, but his soul will need time to heal.”

“At least he knows that both men who wanted to kill him are now dead instead and can’t hurt him anymore. It’s over. This thought should help him to recover faster.” Lemay said to Aramis.

“I will tell him, doctor.” Aramis tried to keep his own bitter thoughts for himself.

 

_ I wish it was so easy. _

 

        A knock at the door interrupted the two men. Captain Tréville entered the infirmary.

 

“Sorry, doctor, I am late. I was delayed by the King.” He looked curiously around. “Where is Athos?” He asked, fearing that his stubborn Lieutenant had not appeared for the examination.

“He’s on his way to his room, you must have missed him about a minute.” Aramis smiled.

“So how is he?” Tréville asked Doctor Lemay, who filled him in about his opinion and suggested that Athos should return to light duty the next day.

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


“You wanted to speak to us?” Aramis asked Captain Tréville half an hour later.

 

        Porthos, d’Artagnan and him were standing in a semicircle in front of Tréville’s desk. Their Captain sat behind his desk. He looked pale and exhausted and Aramis wondered when he had last slept. Several minutes earlier a messenger from the palace had brought a missive, which now lay on Tréville’s desk. Aramis could see that the red seal was broken and the text was signed by King Louis. Other than that he couldn’t read, but he had a feeling that this text troubled Tréville immensely even when he tried to hide the fact.

 

“Bad news?” Porthos asked who had made the same observation as Aramis.

“What?” Tréville looked up confused. When he realised that his men had spotted the small letter, he put some other papers over it and stood up.

“I was at the Court this morning, the King has asked for a special council after several noblemen had asked for help. There seems to be a woman travelling through the countryside on her way to Paris bringing turmoil to the people. She’s telling them that the Spanish King is influenced by the devil and that there will be soon war.”

“A single woman causes noblemen and the King to hold a conference on a Sunday?” Porthos asked curiously. “What is she doing?”

“She is gathering followers around her, they are marching to Paris. She tells them that she receives visions from God. King Louis asked us to investigate the whole incident and if her ideas bring the people up against him and other noblemen he fears that she could cause riots in Paris.”

“What do you want us to do, Captain?” D’Artagnan asked.  

“Well, for now patrol through the city, listen to the talk in the streets, find out if the rumours are right or if simply some noblemen are acting hysterically. I will give you more information tomorrow morning.” Tréville sighed loudly.

“Anything else, Captain? ... About Rochefort?” Aramis asked cautiously.

“He’s still acting like a peacock and his influence on the King grows stronger each day.” Tréville sighed, sat back down on his chair again and closed his eyes for a moment. He had observed Rochefort’s behaviour all morning first at mass then later in the court.

 

        Concerned the three brothers shared glances.

 

“You’re saying we can’t do anything against him right now?” Porthos asked in a more gruff voice then he had intended to sound.

 

        Tréville opened his eyes and looked with his blue eyes from d’Artagnan, over Aramis to Porthos. His glance rested on Porthos face for a while.

 

“I am afraid, right now, my hands are tied …” He sighed. “I must tell Athos later. I have waited all week long, waited for him to get better, tried to avoid seeing him, because … because I knew he would ask me what we could do about him … or at least he will expect that I come up with an idea … but honestly I am at a loss right now.” He stood up abruptly, causing his chair to fall back over. The loud noise filled the whole office, but he ignored it.

“Captain, we will find a way …” D’Artagnan suddenly spoke in the silence. “If it takes us time Athos will understand … but we will stop Rochefort. I am sure of it.”

“How?” Porthos asked frustratedly.

“How we will do it? Always with passion, with our wits, at the right moment, but without honour!” Aramis said coldly.

 

        Then he turned to his Captain.

 

“Talk with Athos, Captain. As d’Artagnan already pointed out he will understand. What confuses him right now is that you haven’t checked on him the past days, moreover that you are avoiding him.”

“Has he told you that?” Tréville asked getting even paler.

“No, but I know him. The past days he suddenly thought that he wouldn’t be able to serve as a Musketeer any longer due to his injury and his now weakened body …”  

“You do know that this is nonsense, Aramis!” Tréville suddenly shouted out harshly.

“Of course.” Aramis stayed calm. “I’m simply telling you what I’ve noticed. It would be good, if you could talk to him … better sooner than later.” Aramis explained.

 

        His dark eyes scanned Tréville’s whole appearance. His commanding officer’s shoulders were bent, he obviously hadn’t thought of that idea that him keeping away from Athos to give his Lieutenant time to heal had caused his officer to question his own ability of being an excellent Musketeer.

 

“Not now …” Tréville shouted at Aramis.

 

        He returned back to his chair, set it up again. Then he turned to his men, without really surveying them with his eyes again. With his stare fixed on the papers on his desk he answered gruffly:

 

“If that’s all ... you are dismissed. You have your orders for the day. D’Artagnan you stay here at the garrison. Spare your hip, go for a walk or ride. Porthos, Aramis, inform the other Musketeers, build teams and report to me at dusk.” With that said he started to look through his papers.

 

        The rustling sound was the only noise they could hear, in this second. Porthos glanced at Aramis:

 

_ “Shall we insist that he goes now?”  _ Porthos wanted to know.

_ “No, Porthos, we have our orders. He’ll go, when he’s ready.” _

_“What’s going on?”_ D’Artagnan asked with his eyes and both of his brothers gave him a sign to discuss this outside of Tréville’s office. With a slight bow to their Captain and an “Aye, aye, Sir,” they left the brooding man to his own thoughts.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        When his men had finally left, Tréville reached a second time for the missive, which had arrived only several minutes earlier. It was a letter from King Louis. In this letter Louis expressed again his disappointment of his service as the Captain of the Musketeers lately. He then had added some notes about the -he has called it- “poisoning affair,” that he had thought about the whole incident with Rochefort and they both came to the conclusion that he should have had informed him about his suspicion at once. In the last part of his letter he made it more than clear that if Tréville failed him again in such a disrespectful manner, he wouldn’t be the Captain of the Musketeers any longer. The next order he did not fulfill to the utmost satisfaction of the King would probably lead to him losing his post. Tréville stared at the black lines over and over again. Of course Louis was right, he should have told him earlier, but he hadn’t found the right moment and after he had refused to join the Court, Louis had stopped listening to his advice, ignored him or told him that he would discuss this in private with Rochefort.

 

 _Rochefort … this man is pure evil … what can I do about him …? How can I stop him …? The only way I see right now is to make an accident happen … God, I am already thinking like the Cardinal._ _This man is dangerous. He’s a mass murder? He’s insane. How long will it take Louis to find that out. Will he endanger the King as well or is he simply like Milady who wants to have  power …? I don’t know what to do … I have to tell Athos … well, not about the missive, it will only upset him more, but I need his opinion how we can move on._

 

        Tréville sensed his aching head, another headache would appear soon. Wearily he stood up, left his office and went over the courtyard to Athos’ room. He knocked at his door and hoped that he hadn’t woken him up. When he didn’t hear anything, he cautiously opened the door. He looked around in the small room, but Athos wasn’t in there.

 

_ Where are you? Damn … I haven’t seen you in the courtyard … I hope not … _

 

        He left Athos’ room in a hurry, made his way over to the new stable and froze in front of Roger’s box. The black stallion was missing and with him obviously his owner.

 

_ Athos … what are you doing? Where are you? I should have talked with you earlier. Aramis was so right. I hope you don’t do something foolish. _

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	88. Mon Diu,  jo t’demandi  justitia!  ... A Ray of Light

⚔⚔

 

 

         Athos stood in the new stable and admired the good work d’Artagnan and the other Musketeers had made by rebuilding it. The dark wood was well chosen. The horse boxes were now a little bigger to give the sturdy beasts more space. For a moment he closed his eyes and breathed in the typical odour of a horse stable: fresh hay, old leather. He could hear the typical noises of the horses around him. Slowly he made his way to Roger’s box. As he had left the infirmary he first had thought to return to his room, but then Ompra appeared next to him. He softly patted her, when Tréville rode up into the Courtyard. Not ready to meet him right now and to be asked by him to return into the infirmary he had decided to find his refuge in the stables.    

 

“Hello, my friend.” He softly stroked Roger’s mane and nose.

 

         Roger greeted him happily and looked for a piece of sugar or a carrot, but Athos hadn’t had anything with him. In the distance he heard a noise and turned around. Jacques was busy with taking care of Tréville’s horse. As he noticed Athos in the stable he paused.

 

“Can, I do something for you, Lieutenant?” He asked, astonished that Athos was already up and around.

 

         Athos was about to say no, but then a sudden idea crossed his mind.

 

_Lemay has told me that I am fit for light duty, so in order to practise I can take Roger for a small ride through one of the near forests - maybe an hour or two - I think it would do me good._

 

“Do you know where my saddle is?” He asked and looked around.

 “I will fetch it for you!” Jacques hurried to say and left Tréville’s horse next to Athos and ran away. One minute later he returned. “I will saddle Roger for you.” He eagerly insisted while Athos already wanted to stop him, but then he realised that it would be better if Jacques helped him.

 “Thank you.” He said in a soft tone and stepped aside, so Jacques could saddle and harness his horse. Several minutes later he was finished and pressed the reins into his hand.

 “Here you are.” He smiled shyly, then without saying or asking anything else, Jacques returned to his previous task to take care of the Captain’s white stallion.

 

         Athos again stroked Roger’s mane then his nose.

 

“Well, boy, I think it’s about time that I ride you again.” He still wondered if he would manage to mount Roger as a quiet voice behind him, nearly made him jump.

“Do you need help?”

“I’m not sure d’Artagnan. Perhaps it’s a very foolish idea, but I thought …”

“I don’t think that it’s foolish. On the contrary I’m glad to see you trying it.” D’Artagnan smiled at his mentor.

 

         Athos looked into his brown eyes, his hands still resting on Roger’s saddle.

 

“What are you doing here?”

“The Captain ordered me to rest, so I thought I could check on my horse.”

“Where are the others?” Athos asked.

“Aramis and Porthos are busy serving our King.” D’Artagnan laughed and Athos raised his eyebrows.

“What are they doing?”

“Oh, they are organising an inquiry about a crazy woman who thinks that God has spoken to her.”

“Don’t laugh d’Artagnan, if she can influence the people with her messages and ideas, she can become soon a threat for our King.”

“A single woman …” D’Artagnan paused and looked perplexed at Athos. “How?”

“I don’t know what she is saying to people, but if she says that she has a prophecy that our King is not the right King, she can cause riots, which could lead to terror, injury and dead people.” He sighed.

 

         D’Artagnan became silent.

 

_Of course Athos is right, why haven’t I thought about it myself. He doesn’t even know what Tréville has told us … and he already sees the possible threat._

         Athos, who sensed d’Artagnan’s embarrassment, tried to change the subject.

 

“I am really proud of you.” A small smile appeared on his lips.

“What?”

“I am impressed with this new stable I like it. It’s better than the one we had before.”

“Thank you.” D’Artagnan felt that his cheeks turned slightly red.

“Alright, shall I help you to mount?” D’Artagnan tried to change the topic while beaming over his whole face. He expected Athos to refuse his help but to his own astonishment the swordsman only nodded.

 

         D’Artagnan cocked his head with an encouraging smile and approached Roger. Athos sighed with resignation. He bent his left leg and put his knee in d’Artagnan’s waiting hands. In a swift move up, d’Artagnan propped him onto the big black stallion. Before Athos could really realise it he was sitting on Roger. He felt his back wound, but it was not too bad. He closed his eyes, enjoying the contact with the beast, feeling the tremors running through the animal’s strong muscles under his thighs. The horse pulled on the reins impatiently and Athos had to use all his strength to stop him from sending him over his mane. Roger shook his head chewing on the bit.

 

“Where are you going?” D’Artagnan asked curiously and as he didn’t receive an answer he looked up and he recognised that Athos’ was fighting against tears welling up in his eyes.

 

         He softly laid a hand on Athos’ thigh.

 

“You alright?”

 

         No answer. Athos was still busy reigning in his own emotions. Roger who felt Athos’ emotional state softly started to shake his head.

 

“I think it’s better if I stay here.” Athos suddenly said in a low voice.

 

         He already wanted  to get off his horse again, but d’Artagnan stopped him by pushing his legs back.

 

“I think you should go.” D’Artagnan then pressed his thigh. “Shall I come with you?” He asked quietly.

 “Aren’t you needed here?” Athos asked.

 “No, the Captain released me from my duties for today. I told you. Do you remember?”

 

         Athos looked in d’Artagnan’s eyes.

 

“I would love that.” He mumbled.

 “What?”

 “If you could come along.” Athos softly said. Then a little louder he added: “Besides you would follow me nevertheless, am I right?”

 “Probably,” d’Artagnan laughed. “Aramis and Porthos already watched your back, I guess now it’s my turn. Wait I will saddle Zad and then we can go, wherever you want to go.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         D’Artagnan enjoyed the time spent riding along next to Athos in silence. From time to time the Gascon worriedly checked his friend’s face for any indication of pain, but either Athos was good at hiding his feelings or he really was better. Of course he still looked pale and his clothes were still too large for him, but in d’Artagnan’s opinion his mentor looked happy. Athos relaxed more and more on Roger. The ride through the hills and the small forest felt good on his skin and his whole body. He noticed that his younger brother checked the area from time to time and then observed him closely, but he respected his need for silence and he really felt glad that he was riding with him.

          On their way back to the garrison Athos suddenly turned to d’Artagnan.

 

“Do you have any idea where …” He paused, not sure how to express his question.

 

         D’Artagnan moved nearer with Zad so that they were riding now closer to each other.

 

“Where?”

 “Where they have buried Ana-Josefa?” He asked barely audible avoiding d’Artagnan’s scanning view.

 “Yes, I do. Queen Anne asked for a burial in the _Sainte-Chapelle._ She used to go there very often with her to pray. They both loved this place. Aramis went to the burial on Tuesday.”

 “Of course he didn’t tell me …” Athos sighed.

 “I am sure he would have told you, he simply wanted to give you time to heal first …”

 “Do you mind coming along with me to the _Sainte-Chapelle_?” Athos interrupted him.

 “Now?” D’Artagnan asked cautiously.

 “Yes, now, I want to say goodbye to her.”

“Of course, come.”     

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         D’Artagnan wanted to let Athos go into the small Chapel on his own and to wait with the horses to give his brother some needed space, but Athos asked him to show him the gravestone. The church had been built on the _Ile de la Cité._ It was a stunning edifice, small, oddly narrow compared to its height.

 

“I have no idea where it is? We must ask Aramis.”

 “But you can help me to search for it.” Athos insisted. “Now that we are already here …”

 “Perhaps we can ask a priest?” D’Artagnan suggested.

 

         They both entered the small chapel. D’Artagnan who had never been in it before gasped out loud and admiration left him speechless, imitating Captain Tréville with his mouth wide open, as he spotted the beautiful red pillars and the high vaults painted in dark blue and covered with yellow fleur-de-lys. In the front he could see some small coloured windows.The sun rays which had a very special intensity that late in the afternoon drew blue, red, yellow and green patches on the greyish stone floor.

 

“You have never been here before.” Athos stated the obvious fact, his low rumbling voice bringing the young man back to reality.

 

         He laid a hand on the young man’s arm.

 

“No, never. I have never seen such a beautiful church before. It’s amazing.” D’Artagnan breathed out, staring at the myriad of fleurs-de-lys painted on the blue vaults.

 

         A loud cough behind them made them both recoil.

 

“How can I help you?” A small lean old man with white hair and glasses stared at them. D’Artagnan wasn’t sure if he was glad to see them.

 “We are looking for the tomb of Lady Ana-Josefa, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, she was buried here on Tuesday.” Athos softly explained. “We are here to pay our respects and pray for her soul.” He added and his eyes focused on the face of the old priest.

 “You are Musketeers.” The priest stated firmly. “You shouldn’t bring your sword into a house of God, young man.” He glared at d’Artagnan who blushed intently lowering his eyes.

 “With all due respect, we have to, by the order of the King.” Athos interrupted the priest before d’Artagnan could find a proper answer. “I assure you we won’t start a fight. We simply … I … want to …”

 

         Athos realised that the more he talked about the fact that Ana-Josefa had died, the more it became real. Angrily, he tried to keep up his impressive face, but the old man realised that the Musketeer in front of him was really mourning over this young Lady.

 

“You look a little _green around the gills_.” The priest answered. “Perhaps it’s best if you sit down and I’ll bring you a cup of water.” He noticed that Athos wasn’t wearing any weapons.

“No, I am fine. Can you please show us the place?”

 

         Athos asked again suddenly feeling d’Artagnan’s hand on his back stabilising and comforting him, while the latter stepped next to Athos and glared demandingly at the priest.

 

“Alright, alright, I will show you, but you should hurry, I will close the chapel for the night at six.”

 “I thought chapels were open for people to come and pray.” D’Artagnan wondered out loud.

 “If you need more time to pray I won’t lock you up.” The old man answered gruffly.

 

 _How very kind of him._ D’Artagnan thought angrily. _Athos has made it this far and now we should  go?_

 

         The old man returned to the entrance of the small church then he turned left. D’Artagnan spotted stairs and they started to climb them, the priest in front, Athos behind and d’Artagnan the last, ready to help his brother if he slipped on the narrow white stone stairs. They reached a second floor, Athos was  breathing heavily but he didn’t say a word.  D’Artagnan noticed that there were huge glass windows colouring the interior of this second floor with scenes from the Old and New Testaments.

          He could even see the colours of the windows on Athos’ hands and face. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the magical phenomenon which occurred all over Athos’ pale skin, conferring on him something almost ethereal. It was as if the man was wrapped in a moving rainbow. D’Artagnan blushed when he noticed that Athos was staring at him with a fond smile on his lips.

          The old priest didn’t wait for them to gaze at this part of the chapel, but went over to the right hand side showing them a small alcove where a gravestone was newly installed.

 

“It’s here. I will be back in a few minutes …”

 “Thank you.” Athos mumbled.

 

         D’Artagnan couldn’t take his eyes off of the impressive ribbed vaults. The space between the thin ribs had been painted in a blinding bright blue and dotted with golden stars making it look like a summer sky vault. D’Artagnan began to feel dizzy, his neck was painful but the sight was so amazing and new to him that he couldn’t resign himself to looking at something else. Athos heard him breathe out a shaky sigh.

 

“D’Artagnan?” He murmured, frowning.

 “I just … I wonder …”

 “You wonder?” Athos asked gently, still watching the effects of this masterpiece of architecture had on the young former farm boy.

 “These windows …” He made a short pause, trying to express in the best words possible what he had in mind. “I don’t even understand how the whole edifice doesn’t tumble down with so many windows and so few walls. It’s as fine as the lace collars of the King and it seems as fragile! No wonder the Queen comes here to pray …” D’Artagnan paused again and looked down at Athos, his vertebras creaking slightly. “I’m sorry …”

“It’s alright.” Athos reassured him taking hold of his young friend’s elbow expressing in this single gesture his affection for him, like a man guiding his young brother. “I reacted the same -well maybe I didn’t express my excitement about this little church as you do right now- but I was fascinated by those coloured glass windows. They give this whole place something special. Aramis would tell you now that we can feel the divine presence here more clearly.”

 “Oh, I can already hear him talking and telling me each of the stories of the bible, which are portrayed in those beautiful windows.” D’Artagnan grinned.

 

         Athos’ hand on his arm again made him look down and the movement made him lose his balance, he stumbled and almost sent his elbow in Athos’ ribs.

 

“I’m … it’s … I’m.” He mumbled with a sheepish look.

 “I know.” Athos reassured him unconsciously running his thumb back and forth over the young man’s biceps. “Shall we go?” His voice broke slightly on the last word.

 

         When they were a few feets away from the grave, d’Artagnan stopped. He waited at a respectful distance while Athos looked at the engraved name of Ana-Josefa. Some red and white roses were standing in a vase next to the gravestone.

 

 _It’s real … she is really dead … until now I could_ _befool_ _myself by saying that this was all a horrible nightmare, but her name is engraved here. At this peaceful place she was laid to rest. I have failed you … I couldn’t protect you_ _either back then or now…_

 

         He felt tears running down his face, but he didn’t care. He was grateful that his young friend was with him but at the same time he wished that he could have spared him the sight of his grief. The young man didn’t have to look after him like that. He tried to stem the flow of his tears but his lungs ached from the effort and soon, he started to sob, his shoulders heaving helplessly. He barely heard the sound of boots behind him and suddenly he felt a hand brushing his left shoulder. He didn’t turn around and the comforting gesture, unexpectedly, made him cry even more. It was as if he had kept this sorrow confined deep in his heart and now, the dams were open and he couldn’t stop himself.

 

“I couldn’t save her d’Artagnan. It’s my fault that she is dead.”

 

         Athos legs started to shake and before he collapsed he decided to sit down on the stone floor next to her grave. He buried his head in his hands and felt more tears coming up, but he hadn’t the strength to fight against them and so he let go. D’Artagnan drew a little closer and laid his hand on Athos’ head, moving his thumb lightly over the silky hair. Athos impulsively leaned against the young man’s thigh, seeking a support both emotional and physical. For a moment the young Musketeer wasn’t sure what to do, but then he simply decided to sit next to his mentor on the cold stone floor. He didn’t want to let him feel alone and as soon as he was sitting, he placed his hand on Athos’ back and left it there, immobile and light between Athos’ trembling shoulder blades.

 

“Let it all out.” He softly mumbled in his ear.

 

         He felt more tremors running through Athos’ body and he wished Aramis and Porthos were with him. Not knowing what to say he suddenly had an idea. A prayer his mother used to sing in church. It was her favourite song and so he started to hum it at first softly, then he sung the text. He felt that Athos was leaning more on his hand and he dared to move closer.

 

Mon Diu,  jo t’demandi  justitia

Presta m’donq l’aurelha propitia

A mos cridz atenn  te Seño :

Pux qe ma boca vertadêra,

De mon coratge compañera

T’invoca, nom’ digas de no

Volhas t’y veze, los oeils pauza.

Sur la justicia de ma causa

En ta coustumada acquitat :

Tu qui no t’ trompas, ny t’abuzas ,

Mes vezes toats cauzas nuzas

Deu haut thronn de ta Majesta **.[* ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987401/chapters/30113613/preview#chapter_88_endnotes)**

 

“That’s beautiful, what is it?” He asked through tears, reaching with a shaky hand to wipe his pale face.

 “A prayer in Gascon. My mother’s favourite. It is about the trust in the justice of God.”

 “I failed her.” Athos suddenly said, new tears running down his now reddish face.

 “No, you didn’t.” D’Artagnan said suddenly, turning towards him and gripping his shoulders to make his friend look at him.

 

         In a very clear and commanding tone, which Athos had never heard him use before, he now continued as well:

 

“Do you hear me, Athos? It’s not your fault that Lady Ana-Josefa is dead or any of the other people who were killed. He nearly managed to kill you, too. It is not your fault.”      

“But …” Athos tried now looking into the dark eyes with distress.

“It’s his doing not yours. He is evil, a monster. Perhaps the Spanish imprisonment made him like that, but I doubt it. I think he was already this evil and dangerous person when he worked for the Cardinal. Look what he did to you back then ... this man is insane.”

 “Our hands … my hands are tied d’Artagnan, I can’t stop him.” Athos replied gripping d’Artagnan’s wrists.

 “Athos, I will kill him … not today or tomorrow … but very soon. I swear this to you. Here in this church, next to Ana-Josefa’s tomb, I make this vow.”

 

         D’Artagnan paused, now fighting to hide his own tears, but then he decided that it didn’t matter, Athos could see them. 

 

“He nearly stole you away from me. The one man who helped me to mourn after the death of my father, not to give up, not to lose hope, to find a new family and to become a Musketeer. I know that it was you, who always had my back. You are my brother, Athos! I don’t know what I would have done without you ...”

 

         The young Gascon searched with his now red swollen eyes Athos’ teary irises which constantly tried to avoid his look.

 

“Athos, look at me, please.”

 

         Athos, at last, accepted and looked at him. D’Artagnan could see and feel his gratitude. Around them red, blue and green lights wrapped them in a soft embrace, while a single yellow light was resting on Ana-Josefa’s gravestone.

 

“You know, Porthos thinks that Ana-Josefa was fond of me.”

 “Why wouldn’t she?” D’Artagnan smiled through his tears. “You are a good looking Musketeer and your blue uniform makes you attractive to all the young ladies at the Court, with one exception.” D’Artagnan tried to ease the tense atmosphere.

 “I could see her observing me when I had palace guard and she was around. She always smiled shyly at me.”

 “She obviously liked you.”               

 “D’Artagnan, promise me … promise me that you won’t endanger yourself because of this monster. There are other ways and means to stop this evil man.”

 

         Athos looked into d’Artagnan’s eyes, then he reached out, laid both his hands at the base of his friend’s neck and squeezed his shoulders in a tight grip.

 

“Promise me, my little brother.” He repeated.

 “I promise that I will be careful, but I swear here in this church that he has to pay for his crimes. Allow me to kill him and to end his brutal reign of terror, if I have the chance to do so.” D’Artagnan said in a pleading tone.

 “I won’t stop you.”

 

         Athos fell silent and they stayed like that for a while, face to face in an awkward position. They had shut out the rest of the world. When a cloud slid in front of the sun and the colours vanished on the stone floor and their faces, d’Artagnan asked:

 

“Do you want to go or stay, I could talk to the priest and say that we want to pray a little longer.”

 “I would like to go, but I can’t.”

 “What?” D’Artagnan asked confused.

 “My feet have fallen asleep. I think you will have to help me up.” He admitted with an almost shy and watery smile.

 

         D’Artagnan stood up from the ground in a swift move, then he helped his brother to stand up. When Athos could finally feel his now tingling feet again he unexpectedly wrapped his arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulders and hugged him for a moment in a clumsy embrace.

 

“Thank you for coming with me and not leaving me alone, d’Artagnan.”

 

         Athos was about to let the young man go but the latter felt a lump in his throat. He couldn’t say a word so he just wrapped an arm around his big brother’s waist and briefly laid his head against his before stepping back. Athos let go of his shoulders and ordered.

 

“Let’s go back to the garrison before the Captain organises a search party for me.”

                                   

         D’Artagnan tried to ignore the picture of an angry looking Tréville standing on his balcony and shouting loud orders and swearing about the fact that he feared that Athos would be in another filthy and shabby tavern.

 

“You are right, we’d better go, I don’t want to endure his wrath tonight.” He laughed softly, then he helped Athos back to the stairs.

 

         His friend threw a last glance back to Ana-Josefa’s grave then he focused his eyes on the stairs in order not to slip. Outside d’Artagnan helped Athos back in the saddle of Roger. As he noticed that Athos was swaying dangerously he gripped his forearm, and immediately made his mind up. He tied the reins of Zad to Athos’ saddle and mounted Roger, behind Athos.

 

“Lean on me.” He whispered in his right ear then he ordered Roger to take them back clicking his tongue and squeezing his calves on the big stallion’s flanks. He felt Athos’ head resting on his chest. The exhausted swordsman had fallen asleep in his arms. He wrapped his arm more securely around his friend’s waist and sighed deeply, briefly burying his face in his friend’s hair to forget the lump still in his throat.

 

_It’s about time to rest in your own bed and not on your horse, Athos._

 

         He softly started to hum the psalm again he had sang earlier. The words reminded him again that only God could help the people to a divine justice.

 

_This day will come, Rochefort. You won’t hurt my brother again. I will stop you!_

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

         In the distance a dark figure watched d’Artagnan mounting behind Athos on his black stallion.     

 

_My spy network still works … I am glad the old priest told me that Athos had arrived …_

_Oh he’s suffering, it’s good to see him so weak and in pain._

_Perhaps it’s best that I don’t do anything against him right now._

_Let him think that everything is over … and if the right moment comes I’ll have my chance and then neither of your brothers will be able to come to help and rescue you._

 

_Next time I’ll do it by myself …_

 

 _Anyway I enjoy seeing you so weak_ _…_

_It will take you some time to gather new strength … ha ... ha … ha ..._

 

_Now, I need to concentrate on getting my Queen. Maybe I can meet with her here in private when she comes to pray for her lady-in-waiting and dear cousin. I can offer her my shoulder to cry on … soon it will be like in the old days._

 

_Soon very soon I will be the new King of France and she will adore me as her powerful husband._

 

         Rochefort waited several minutes longer until it felt safe to leave the dark corner in which he had hidden. He didn’t recognise the woman with the long black hair, who had observed everything from the distance. She wondered what the Comte was doing near Sainte-Chapelle, but she had been glad to see that d’Artagnan had come with Athos and he was well protected.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

 

**_  
_**

**__ **

 

**_Photos by Ebm36 and Kirasum_ **

**_(Paris, 07/2017)_ **

 

**__ **

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My God, I beg for justice;  
> Listen to me,  
> Lord, be attentive to my cries,  
> Since my mouth where the truth comes from,  
> Companion of my courage,  
> Invoke you, don’t say no.  
> Please, deign to look at me, to lay your eyes on  
> The rightness of my cause,  
> With your usual equity,  
> You who never fail , who are never wrong,  
> But see everything  
> From your throne of majesty.


	89. Thank God you survived.

⚔⚔

 

“Is he drunk?” 

 

         Tréville asked angrily looking from Aramis to Porthos and back to his medic. His eyes sparkled dangerously and both men knew that he was on the verge of exploding. They had returned to the garrison from their mission at the same time as d’Artagnan had brought Athos back. Aramis had noticed immediately that it wasn’t only Athos sitting on Roger, but d’Artagnan behind him.

 

“What has happened?” 

 

         He had asked concerned, while jumping from his horse and running over to them, fearing that Athos was hurt.

 

“Nothing.” D’Artagnan tried to calm him. “He’s simply exhausted and has fallen asleep.

“On his horse? Where were you?” Aramis was now really angry.

 

         Without asking much Porthos had stepped next to Roger and simply said:

 

“I will help you to take him to his room. I can see that you are struggling with helping him down.”

“Well, I don’t want to wake him.” D’Artagnan excused himself.

 

         He still had a firm grip around Athos’ waist and could hear him softly breathing. His brother’s head still rested on his chest and d’Artagnan had put his chin on his hair to stabilise his back better. He couldn’t tell why but he felt strongly that he should protect his older brother .

 

“Well, he won’t be happy if I carry him again, so I’ll wake him.” Porthos said, then he squeezed softly Athos’ right thigh and shouted:

“Wake up, you hedgehog.”

 

         Athos confused, opened his eyes, he blinked several times, feeling the tight grip around his leg and the loud voice. He felt some strong arms holding him and he noticed Roger’s typical horse odour.

 

“What?”

“I’m sure you can sleep better in your own bed than on the back of your stallion.” Aramis teased him.

“Come, I’ll help you down.” Porthos smiled at him brightly.

 

         Still a little confused and not fully awake Athos realised that d’Artagnan had transferred his precious cargo -namely himself- into Porthos’ waiting arms. The big man enclosed them around his brother whose feet safely reached the ground of the garrison courtyard.

 

“Shall I carry you or do you want to walk?” Porthos mocked Athos.

“I will try to walk back, thank you very much, my dear Porthos.” 

 

         Athos tried to free himself from Porthos’ embrace, but as soon as he had managed, Aramis was on his other side and both of his brothers insisted on helping him walk back to his room.

 

_ Will they ever stop being so overprotective? _

 

         He turned his head back to the young Gascon who was dismounting from Roger and smiled at him. Athos shortly told him with his eyes  _ Thank you _ before his two other brothers dragged him away in the direction of his room.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“No, he isn’t drunk!” Porthos said angrily. “Just exhausted. Why do you have so little confidence in him and think that he will run to the next tavern?”

“He’s tried before, hasn’t he!” Tréville shouted back.

“He wanted to go there, but before he arrived, he decided otherwise and turned around.”

“Oh!” Tréville looked astonished. “I didn’t know. Why?”

“Why?” Porthos snorted. “Because he thinks that his drinking caused him to be careless and led him to being poisoned and to the death of Ana-Josefa.”

“Has he told you that?” Aramis stared unbelievingly at Porthos, while Tréville caught his breath.

“No, but I know him. Well, we all know him.” Porthos sighed. “So if he wants to ride on Roger, for God’s sake give him the space to do so.”

“He shouldn’t ride in his state of health. He could have fallen down and broken his neck.” Tréville started talking to himself angrily.

“You know, he’s much better.” Aramis tried. He had been angry and upset before, but he understood very well why Athos had decided to ride out. “Besides he wasn’t alone. He asked d’Artagnan to go with him.”

“What? And d’Artagnan didn’t stop him?”

“Why should he? After all Athos is a Musketeer and a very good rider.” Porthos said again.

 

         He glared angrily at his Captain, ready to fight for Athos. Both men stared at each other and Aramis could feel the tension rising.

 

“Where were they?” Tréville asked harshly.

“I don’t know.” Porthos growled. “D’Artagnan didn’t say and Athos has fallen asleep as soon as he touched his mattress. Is that so important to you, Captain?”

“Gentlemen! Why don’t we all calm down. Athos is safe resting in his room, he’s not drunk and I think he will be happy if you, Captain, visit him later and tell him about your thoughts of if he can return to light duty tomorrow or not and I would strongly advise you to do it, because he needs something to do, to distract himself.” Aramis paused.

 

         The medic smiled first at Porthos then at Tréville.

 

“Alright, you are right, Aramis and of course Porthos you too, it’s just …”

“That he can be a stubborn mule sometimes in not informing you where he’s going?” Porthos finished. “I know, Captain.”

“I think we all try to protect him. I felt the very same anger earlier -such as yours Captain right now-, but it doesn’t help Athos when we are too overprotective. He’s a soldier and he needs us to show him that we have confidence in his abilities.” Aramis added softly.

“I know, Aramis …” Tréville shook his head, then he straightened himself and asked. “Have you found out anything about that woman?”

“Nothing more than you’ve already told us.” Porthos answered.

“I think we started our research wrong.” Aramis added.

“How so?” Tréville wanted to know.

“We were wearing our Musketeer uniforms and pauldrons. We need to go there again, but as civilians.” Aramis suggested.

“Let me think about it, I will wait what the other men report, go now and rest. I’ll inform you about our further steps tomorrow.” Tréville explained, watching Porthos and Aramis as they left his office, then he sat down behind his desk. He feared that with the appearance of this woman, a new problem had arisen, while the other problem still wasn’t solved.

 

_ Athos … I need to talk with him … I’ve ignored him for too long … no wonder he thinks that he’s not fit for duty and is starting to have self doubts … _

 

         He stood up again, searched in one of his cupboards and found a bottle of his favourite  _ cognac _ .

 

_ Alright, I can think about this woman tomorrow … now I have more urgent matters to deal with. _

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


         Athos woke with a start. Confused, he blinked his eyes several times in order to clear his sight until he realised that it was already dark outside. He knew that a candle was next to the head of his bed, but he had no idea how to light it.

 

“Ompra is that you?” He asked in the darkness, but he couldn’t hear any typical noises of the young dog: no panting, no snarling, no barking, no whining. He listened again.

 

_ Maybe it was a sound outside in the courtyard. It’s not that late. How many hours have I slept? I shouldn’t have gone riding, my stupid body … _

 

         There again, but this time he knew what it was. A soft knock on his door followed by a low voice.

 

“Athos, are you awake, can I disturb you?”

“Come in.” Athos said in his typical low voice.

 

         Then he started to look if his blanket covered him because he had no idea what he was wearing. After he’d been led back to his room by Aramis and Porthos he had simply collapsed on his bed and after that he couldn’t remember anything.

 

_ They probably undressed me - they are used to it by now. _

 

         The door was open and Captain Tréville entered the dark room. In one hand he was holding a candle in the other an object Athos couldn’t identify at first. The Captain softly closed the door with one foot then he moved over to Athos’ bed and lit the candle next to him. He stood in his typical stance, his feet firmly planted on the floor, legs slightly apart, arms behind his back.

 

“I am sorry I couldn’t make it earlier.” Tréville stood indecisively in front of Athos, who tried to get up.

“Stay there” Tréville softly said, then he looked for a free chair, which he fetched and sat next to Athos’ head.

 

         Both men observed each other in silence for a long time then Tréville broke the ice.

 

“I’m sorry, I should go, I have woken you up. I tried to come earlier but you were busy riding … I should let you rest and sleep like the doctor has prescribed, we will speak tomorrow morning. Get better!” 

 

_ What am I saying … busy riding … now he will think that I am upset with him. Dear God, Athos you still look so weak … how can I not be worried … how can I not give you needed time to heal, to rest. _

 

         Tréville smiled at Athos, then he stood up and attempted to extinguish the candle, but Athos stopped him. Absent-mindedly the Captain drew his hand over his face. He used to do it very often, when he wasn’t sure, what he should say or do. Athos observed him critically and thought of Porthos and Aramis. Porthos always told them that he could win every card game against their Captain, because his face was so easy to read. Aramis then chuckled and always commented: Never play cards with Athos, you will lose. This thought made Athos grin for a short moment, but then a soft noise from Tréville pulled him back to the present.

 

“Please don’t go. It means a lot ... that you are checking ... on me.”

 

         Athos paused and clenched his jaw feeling the all too familiar lump growing in his throat. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut to try to hide the water blurring his sight but when he opened them, he was sure that his current state was obvious to his Captain’s eyes.

 

_ Damn … try to stop being so emotional. This afternoon d’Artagnan … now Tréville … what will they think of me? _

 

         Athos couldn’t help but feel angry. He didn’t know who the anger was directed against, of course against himself but why was he so angry against the whole world? His Captain didn’t deserve it. He stayed silent waiting for him to continue to say something, anything which could save him from being either too harsh or emotionally wrecked if he opened his mouth.

 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Tréville suddenly smiled, then he sat back on the hard wooden chair. “I wanted to come earlier this week, but I wanted to let you rest and the meetings at the palace where horrible … well, I don’t need to tell you …”

 

Athos breathed in deeply, a little calmer now. He tried again to become the faithful and steady Lieutenant, he straightened his back and spoke in a low but even voice.

 

“Tell me. What’s bothering you that you haven’t come and visited me after taking care of me each day while I was nearly dying?” Athos asked quietly, but Tréville could hear his voice trembling in spite of his visible effort to make it sound strong and firm.

 

         The Captain fell silent, frowning intently.

 

_ How shall I say it? What can I say? You will be disappointed … _

 

         Tréville let his eyes wander around the room and they paused on a plate with cheese and bread, a glass of milk, untouched, and some sausages.

 

“Have you already eaten something this evening?”

“I think I passed that … I was too tired … I was foolish …”

“Why?”

“I thought riding out was a good idea. The doctor told me that I am ready to work some light duty shifts and I wanted to prove to myself that I am still a Musketeer, but I strained myself and d’Artagnan had to take me home …”

 

         He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously.

 

“What makes you think that you aren’t a Musketeer anymore?” Tréville asked quietly shocked that Athos named his fear, Aramis had expressed earlier that day.

“Because I am still so weak, so useless, I can hardly wear my uniform and carry my sword and walking or riding also tires me. It’s never happened before … this is the first time … I felt so miserable … but in this state I cannot serve as a Musketeer any longer.”

“You do know that you are talking nonsense?” Tréville searched the eyes of his officer which were shimmering slightly in the dim red and yellow candle light.

 

         Athos looked in his eyes for several seconds before blinking.

 

“How can I be …”

“Your body is healing Athos, you are on the road to recovery. It is natural to take a little longer until you are fit again. I have talked with Doctor Lemay today and he told me that it will take some time, but that you will heal properly. So, don’t be afraid.”

“But …” Athos tried to protest.

“But … even if you weren’t able to ride or wear a sword, you would still be a Musketeer. I would give you other jobs … like my nasty paperwork … you know that …”

 

         A shy smile hushed over his lips then he paused for a moment and sighed.

 

“I would never let you go, Athos. You know that. I need you!” Tréville searched in the dim light for Athos’ hand and when he couldn’t find it because Athos had hidden it under his blanket, he squeezed his shoulder instead and he let his hand remain a little longer so that Athos could feel that he really meant the words he’d just said.

 

_ God Athos, how can I show you, how can I tell you that you are as close to me as my own son would be. If I keep my distance it’s not that I don’t trust you, but because I don’t want you to remember my failures … my inability to protect you from this mad man ... _

 

“Thank you.” Athos softly said. “I guess I simply needed to hear that from you. I don’t know why I had those thoughts suddenly …” He became silent again.

“I’m sorry … I should have come earlier … I had no idea …” Tréville let his head hang.

 

_ Good grief you didn’t come because you thought that you’d failed me … because Rochefort is still alive … still in his position at Court … I need to tell you that I value what you did for me … you wouldn’t have done this for everyone …  _

 

“It’s alright, Captain. I am very grateful for what you’ve done for me these past days and what you are still doing.” Athos said with a rough voice.  

“Come, you need to eat something.” Tréville needed to change the subject as he felt a lump now climbing up his own throat. He handed Athos some bread and cheese and a cup of water, while Athos slowly started to eat and drink Tréville was lost in his own thoughts.

 

_ Losing you Athos …  _

 

         He didn’t want to continue his own thoughts. All of his men were like his sons, but with Athos he felt a special bond. He could trust him, he valued his wit and his intelligent answers and he was grateful for his experience how to act and talk at Court.

 

“So what do you fear to tell me?” Athos suddenly asked.

“I … er … I … what do you want to hear, Athos? I failed you ...” Tréville sighed out loud.

“How?” Athos looked confused at his Captain.

“Rochefort … he is still in all his power and glory and he gets stronger and more powerful every single day. I have too less evidence to report to the King, Athos … my hands are tied … like back then … I’ve failed you a second time.”

“It’s not your fault, Captain.” Athos now sat up and put his feet over the edge of the bed setting them on the cold floor, but he didn’t realise that. “I’ve told you before and I repeat it now, sometimes we have to suffer … I had to suffer … for the greater good.”

 

         Athos slowly bent his upper body forward and with his right hand he reached for Tréville’s left arm and squeezed him tightly for a short moment.

 

“Back then he was sent away by the Cardinal … otherwise you would have punished him. I know you.” Athos murmured and searched for Tréville’s understanding blue eyes.

“Perhaps you are right, but …” Tréville wanted to continue, but Athos interrupted him. He hated seeing the guilt in his Captain’s eyes.

 

_ For God’s sake, stop blaming yourself. What happened to me is not your fault. _ Athos thought then he straightened his back and continued in a low but firm voice.

 

“I’m a soldier, I serve France … right now we don’t know Rochefort’s true intentions. Why he tried to kill me, why he killed the other people, why a lady-in-waiting of the Queen. We do now know our enemy and our advantage is that he doesn’t know about it. We have to watch him and when the time comes, we have to be prepared to strike.” Athos fell silent as he scanned his commanding officer’s face. “Because I am sure that he has something greater in mind, his ultimate goal is to become First Minister of France …” Athos thought out loud.

“God forbid …” Tréville exclaimed. “I am so sorry. I ...”

“Now, you owe me a drink, stop apologising. D’Artagnan told me today that I should stop blaming myself for what has happened, that I should stop thinking that if I had acted differently, everything would be like before. He made me realise that all what has happened and what I had experienced wasn’t my fault, but the fault of one insane person. If I can accept these words of my younger brother, you should do it too.”

“D’Artagnan told you that today?” Astonished, Tréville looked into Athos’ green eyes, then a smile flashed over his face.

“Yes, I asked him to come along with me to the Sainte-Chapelle, I wanted to pay my last respect to Lady Ana-Josefa.” Athos paused memorising the quietness and beauty of this chapel and his brother’s comforting touch as he mourned in silence over her. He blinked a tear away, then he continued: “If I can learn from d’Artagnan, you can do it too …”

 

         Tréville fell silent. It was rare for Athos to talk so openly about his thoughts and feelings. Tréville thought that the long illness his Lieutenant had had to endure had made him more talkative and ready to open up, even to him, as his commanding officer.

 

_ Of course it is d’Artagnan who helps you out of this. He’s a good influence on you and you know it. That’s why you keep this boy close around you and are teaching him. _

 

“Very well, I will think about the thoughts of our youngest Musketeer.”

 

         He fell silent again, while Athos ate a sausage feeling suddenly really hungry. The pressure of the last days had been taken away from his shoulders. That he could finally talk with Captain Tréville felt good. For a moment they both stayed silent. Tréville was observing his officer eating his dinner. Then he scanned him with his eyes from head to toe. Athos looked better.

 

“ How are you Athos?” Tréville asked him. “I spoke with Doctor Lemay earlier but I want to know how you feel.”

 

         Athos thought for a while then he turned to his Captain.

 

“I feel much better, still not fit for full duty, but I feel ready to do some smaller tasks maybe helping you with some papers for the King or training the recruits. I don’t feel fit enough to do palace guard right now, but I would like to serve again. I am feeling trapped without something to do.”

“That’s good to hear.” Tréville smiled. Then he stood up.

“Where are you going?” Athos asked, hoping to hear that Tréville would stay a little longer, even if he felt tired he enjoyed his company.

“I am looking for … ah … here they are. He fetched two glasses from a shelf in Athos’ room, then he poured his expensive and favourite cognac -which Athos now recognised as the object Tréville had brought with him- in both of them and gave one glass to Athos. He sat down again.

“It’s time to make a toast, Athos!”

 

         He raised his glass and waited for Athos to do the same then he continued:

 

“May the past stay in the dark and behind us, may the present help us to prepare each other and together for the future.” Tréville paused. He searched Athos’ eyes. Then he continued. “May better days come, may you soon be fit and healthy again and may we find a way to bring this rat Rochefort to fall.”

“I drink to that! All for one and one for all, thank you Captain for not letting me down!” Athos smiled for a short moment. He felt tired but safe.

 

         They both enjoyed the golden liquid for some seconds in their mouths before gulping the sweet alcohol.

 

“You should rest and sleep now, Athos.” Tréville took the glass from Athos suppressing the need to help and tuck him under his blanket as he had done for days.

“Why?” Athos asked realising that Tréville’s presence had made him forget that it was already late at night.

“Because tomorrow you will return to light duty and I need you rested.” He smiled fondly.

 

         Then he stood up, squeezed Athos’ shoulder and said, while extinguishing the candle:

 

“Welcome back, my son. I missed you and I am glad that I can still count on you.”

 

         He then checked a last time with his eyes if Athos was really tucked under his blanket, then he grabbed his bottle and the second candle and left.

 

“Good night, Captain.” Athos said merely audible, before falling asleep at once.

“Good night, Athos.” Tréville smiled fondly.

 

         His officer was still weak, but much better. As he opened the door a small shadow rushed along his ankles, quickly brushed past them then the young dog jumped onto Athos’ bed and settled herself at Athos’ feet.

 

 _Well,_ _I was wondering where our watchdog was. Goodnight Athos. Rochefort will pay for that … you don’t need to know that I nearly lost my commanding post today. You will find out sooner or later. All that matters tonight is that you are better._

 

         Tréville stayed for a while at Athos’ door and observed his sleeping Lieutenant, his chest rising and falling, his mouth slightly open, but his breathing finally regular.

 

_ Thank God you survived. _

 

         Angrily he chased the thoughts away of Athos lying nearly dying in this very same bed. Then his mind drifted off to other thoughts regarding the King, the Court and Rochefort’s devilish plans, when he heard muffled noises in the courtyard he decided to let his officer sleep and left his room, closing the door silently behind him.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **


	90. The past is never where you think you left it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **“Everything has to come to an end, sometime.” L. Frank Baum, The Marvelous Land of Oz**
> 
>  
> 
> Here is the last chapter of this very long ff. It was an amazing, long and memorable adventure : 11 months of our lives + wonderful friendships + learning and relearning (None of us had written in English before this ff).
> 
>  
> 
> **We want to thank again :**
> 
>  
> 
> ♦Our betas BETH (We miss you ♥♥♥) and HELEN. Without them this story wouldn't exist.  
> ♦All the people who have helped with medicine, plants (my husband won't read this but I thank him anyway), history, etc.  
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> ♦THE MUSKETEERS and their creators.  
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> We hope to see you all on our other ff.
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> **ooo000O000ooo**  
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> **AND ... HAPPY NEW YEAR !!**

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**_Monday, 16th June_ **

    

         It was around noon as they returned back to the garrison. The cool air which had welcomed them when they had left the garrison had long disappeared to be replaced by an almost unbearable heat. The atmosphere in the room was stifling and they had abandoned their leathers except Athos who sat at the table, unmoving, his head low, his shoulders hunched. Before entering the refectory, he had been tempted to plunge his head into the nearest trough, instead, he had poured a whole ladle of water from the well onto his hair which now curled and glistened in the bright light. His eyes seemed huge in his still pale face and they stared at nothing in particular.

 

“Athos you look pale, you need to eat something and afterwards you should lie down.” Aramis stated firmly.

 

        Athos ignored him, but he followed his friends to the mess. His head was spinning and he felt slightly dizzy.

 

_Light duty … what on earth is light duty, if I can’t manage an easy ride through the forest? My head is killing me. Aramis you are right I need to eat, but right now I fear I can’t … maybe I should lie down …_

 

        He had felt a hand on his shoulder and Porthos’ soft voice in his ear, while he was pushing his friend further on to the mess:

 

“I’m glad that you came with us this morning, but don’t overdo it. Aramis is right. You know that.” Porthos whispered.

 

        Athos sighed out loud. Now the swordsman was sitting at his usual place around their favourite table in Serge’s canteen, but he didn’t eat anything. Aramis observed him closely: Athos sat sideways, his head bowed slightly and his eyes had a distant look. Aramis had decided to sit next to him in order to watch his brother closely. This way he could jump faster, if Athos collapsed and he looked a little like he would pass out soon.

 

“Athos, you should take off your jacket.” He chided quietly.

 

        But Athos ignored him. He closed his eyes briefly hoping that Aramis would leave him alone and stop watching him with these worried big dark eyes. The mingled smells in the room kept him from eating but he could feel the medic’s eyes fixed on him. Porthos who felt Athos’ unease suddenly turned to Aramis and said.

 

“For God’s sake eat or do something else, but stop staring at him. He will tell us, when he wants to lie down and you, Athos, eat something.”

 

        He pushed a bowl with soup towards him, but Athos couldn’t eat, the heat, the smells and a latent anxiety made him feel slightly nauseous. He swallowed his saliva and tried to persuade himself that he was hungry. He had to eat at least to make Aramis leave him alone, but soup, no, it was just unthinkable. He took a spoonful, brought it to his mouth and tried to swallow without gagging. A second one, he could manage, but the third one returned to the bowl untouched. Rather satisfied, Aramis decided to do something to busy his mind and his fingers. He stood up and searched his jacket pockets. He found a small plainly bound bible, a folded sheet of paper and a lead pencil. He then returned to his seat, throwing a sceptical look at Athos. He sat down with a loud sigh and opened his bible, he leafed through the narrow pages covered in tiny condensed letters, then he raised his eyes and looked at d’Artagnan. The young man was devouring greedily -and rather noisily- the content of his bowl. Aramis smiled. Their youngest was still such a boy sometimes, even if looking attentively into his eyes showed more to anyone who knew him. There was a certain maturity in the deep dark irises and sometimes, a shadow darkened them, especially when he looked at Athos like now.

 

“D’Artagnan, what were the exact words?” Aramis asked out of the blue.

“Sorry, what?” D’Artagnan answered his mouth full.

“Eat first, swallow, then answer.” Aramis laughed.

 

        Athos shook his head with a half smile.

 

“I began to write your Gascon prayer, remember. I want to add it in my bible, but I don’t remember the exact words.”

“Only the exact words?” Porthos asked unbelievingly.

“Alright, I don’t remember anything after _Sa gran bontat urós sus tots me ren._ ”

 

        Porthos burst out laughing, spitting a whole mouthful of stew under d’Artagnan’s disgusted gaze.

 

“Aramis, don’t try to pronounce it please.” He said after calming his laughters.

 

    Aramis threw him a dark look.

 

“ _Eth es ma guarda, eth es ma fortalessa, Ma deliurança e ma rondèla espessa_.” D’Artagnan whispered, looking at Athos with a serious and caring expression.

 

    They all raised their eyes, feeling the intensity of this moment.

 

“What does it mean?” Porthos dared to ask in a low hushed voice.

“ _He is my guard, he is my fortress, my deliverance and my strong shield.”_ Aramis answered in the same tone, his eyes bright with fondness.  

 

        Athos raised his eyes to look at d’Artagnan and nodded slowly, his eyes bearing the same expression as the young man’s, fond, solemn and a little sad, because the last time he had heard these words … _No_ , he chased the thought away, only concentrating on the meaning of the words. Aramis resumed his writing, mouthing the words as he wrote them. Porthos slowly plunged his spoon in his bowl and Athos … Athos just stayed quiet and immobile. The spell was broken by Tréville’s arrival, he had just returned from the palace with news from the woman his men had to check out this morning. Unfortunately the news was not good. He had heard the secretary of the Spanish ambassador was found murdered, bound to a wheel of his own coach. Other rumors had reached his and the King’s ear that people with Spanish names were slaughtered while leaving their houses. They needed to do something about Emilie and her dangerous talk or he feared chaos in the streets of Paris. He looked at the _Inséparables_. Porthos and d’Artagnan were enjoying their meal, Aramis was writing something, but had positioned himself next to Athos, and his Lieutenant simply looked exhausted and spent.

 

_If I tell him this now he will glare at me with his leave-me-alone stare and his mood will falter even more. He knows that I am observing him and he knows that he needs to rest. I won’t say a word. Aramis will take care of it … no need to frustrate him further, Athos hasn’t reached his old strength yet._

 

        Tréville sighed inwardly then he started his report. Athos didn’t really listen. He waited for Tréville to tell him to lie down, but it didn’t come. His thoughts drifted off. Remembering d’Artagnan’s words as he was fighting for each breath to survive, each beating heartbeat that burst under his ribs and the unbearable itching on his chest, his brothers suffering with him and not letting him go in his hour of need.

 

 _It’s over, Athos. It’s over … take your time. My brothers saved me, took care of me and never let me down. I should concentrate on that which lies in front of me: a new mission, a new task. This woman Emilie … Tréville is right we cannot simply arrest her and throw her in a prison cell. Look how this worked out with Rochefort ..._ He snorted inwardly. _She is not only crazy as d’Artagnan just put it, but dangerous. Oh, come on Aramis, not every woman needs to be protected, look at my wife Anne … oh well, now he’s starting to argue with Tréville. My head hurts, can’t they simply all stop talking …_

 

        When Aramis tried to protest and Tréville became more angry, Athos decided to intervene. He had followed the exchange between the two men with mixed feelings. He was amused and irritated. Amused because Aramis looked like a schoolboy admonished by his master, and irritated because this discussion was leading nowhere and hurt his painful head.

 

“What does the King says about all this? Will he meet her?” He said at last in a neutral tone, voice low.

        Tréville snorted something about the King being busy with state’s affairs and Athos had the dumb feeling that he didn’t want to tell him what Louis was really busy with. Perhaps at any other day he would have understood Tréville’s innuendo, but not today.

 

_No Athos, I won’t tell you what Louis is doing right now … your wife … true she helped us to investigate and she was really worried about you, but now that you are better she concentrates on gaining the trust of the King as his new mistress … No, you don’t need to know this … rest … gain back your old strength. This woman is not good for you ..._

 

        Tréville didn’t turn around. He needed fresh air. The heat in the mess was unbearable. His order had been clear, Aramis should go and investigate on his own and try to gain the trust of this crazy woman. Athos didn’t like the idea, not at all. His brother alone with a mob who were ready to kill Spanish people. What would happen when they found out that Aramis’ mother was from Spain?  Athos felt his heart beat faster and for a short moment he feared that he would collapse, the suffocating air in the room made it hard for him to catch his breath and the leather jacket, he was still wearing, made him suffer even more in the heated mess. So he stood up without a word, the atmosphere of the room too tense for him now. Suddenly he felt Porthos on his left and Aramis on his right side, while d’Artagnan ran to open the door for him, so they shielded him from the others’ curious looks. Athos dangerously swayed on his feet, but he felt the strong support of his friends’ arms under his armpits and he gratefully took one slow step after another, until they had reached the middle of the courtyard. It was still too hot without any breath of air at this hour of noon. Aramis stopped him to pull off his jacket without saying a word. Athos felt endlessly grateful for the love of his brothers. Porthos wanted to push him further, but Athos stopped then he looked into three pairs of dark eyes. First d’Artagnan who was standing opposite to him, then at Porthos and at last at Aramis. For each he took his time, searching the recognition of his friends, conveying through his eyes all his love for his brothers. Finally he said in a broken voice:

 

“Thank you for helping me to leave my past behind me, let’s hope that the present and the future will bring us better times.”

 

        For a short time his brothers stood still but then Porthos reached for his hand, lifting it. Athos looked at him with surprised eyes but understood and let his friend cover his hand, d’Artagnan followed their example and Aramis was the last. They stayed like that for a while - their own private circle in the middle of the courtyard - without saying the words they usually said, but they didn’t need to say them immediately, they were written in their hearts, minds and eyes in this special moment. They could all feel their brotherly bond and Athos’ way of thanking them touched them deeply. As Athos feet finally started to sway again. Aramis said softly:

 

“All for one.”

 

And Athos whispered back:

“And one for all”.

 

        Afterwards they helped Athos back to his room to rest, knowing that he was finally better. Athos stopped suddenly.

 

“What is it?” Aramis asked anxiously.

“He was right.”

“Who?” D’Artagnan asked irritatingly.

“Rochefort.” He muttered.

“What?” Porthos exclaimed anxiously.

“The past is never where you think you left it.”

 

        The collective relieved sigh made Athos smile and resume his walk.

 

“And we will erase _his_ past once and for all sooner or later.” D’Artagnan swore angrily.

 

        Athos’ three brothers nodded deep in thought, thinking how they could protect him in the future. As the swordsman finally settled on his bed and was tucked under his blue blanket, he closed his eyes and fell peacefully asleep under the fond gaze of his three brothers, who were more than ready to protect him from all the evil out there.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

**_Several weeks later_ **

 

         Athos could hear the clashing of the swords. Metal on metal, loud shouts and groaning.

 

_Aramis, he’s in danger … I hope we are not too late. I don’t want to lose you. How glad I was when Anne brought you back ..._

 

         The fear for his brother’s safety made him hurry. He ran down the corridor leading to the quarters of the Queen. Next to him he could hear Porthos panting and d’Artagnan’s boots on the marble floor. In the past weeks his brothers had helped him to gain his old strength, worked with him extra shifts in combat-fighting, horse riding, sword fighting and even shooting in order to help his back wound to heal faster and to distract him from the fact that the man who had tried to kill him was still unpunished. In the beginning Athos had felt old, really old, but over time he had noticed how his old strength had returned. Back to his usual strength he had no problem with running next to his brothers and drawing his sword, ready to fight the enemy - but was he really ready to fight this enemy? He wasn’t sure about it, but he knew that now was the time to stop that mass murderer.

         As they entered the first of the Queen’s rooms, Rochefort came tumbling out of the Queen’s bedroom. Aramis’ sword was sticking in his back, but the man was still standing and to their utter horror he drew the weapon out of his flesh with a sickening sound and stumbled in their direction, his whole body trembling and his blurry eye staring wildly at them.

 

 _Dear God, how many lives does this evil man have?_ Athos thought.

 

         Rochefort’s good eye widened when he saw Vargas calmly entering the room, followed by Tréville. The Spaniard’s expression was both sad and calm, resigned.

 

“You betrayed me.” Rochefort snarled.

“You left me no choice.” Vargas admitted.

 

         Rochefort lowered his gaze as if resigning himself but suddenly he lunged forward attacking the Spanish spy. Athos almost casually hit Rochefort’s sword with his own to block him.

 

 _He should be dead … with this sword in his back he just drew out of himself … he should be dead. Why is this man still walking on both_ _his feet? No, you won’t kill someone else. Not this time … this time you won’t be able to fulfill your devilish plan. What have you done to Aramis? I can see he’s hurt. This has to stop. Today. Now!_

 

         From the distance Athos had seen Aramis holding his right arm, most probably he was hurt, but he couldn’t ask him and check him over now. Athos fought Rochefort again. The Comte tried to fight back, but Athos was stronger and his own anger gave him strength. The severely wounded Comte somehow managed to stay on his feet. His rage, the blood which seemed to boil in his veins, made him continue to fight, ignoring the intense pain he should have felt. Athos confronted Rochefort with his own sword. Their swords crossed, but Athos stopped his thrust.

 

_I can end this here and now. One single move and I can kill him, I have him, but it would be much too easy. It would be mercy and I don’t want to give him this mercy. He doesn’t deserve it. He has to pay for his crimes. Ending his life now wouldn’t be any punishment at all. This man has endangered the throne, the King, the Queen, whole France … and I promised d’Artagnan something ..._

 

         For a moment Athos hesitated. A second time their swords met. Rochefort glared dangerously and Athos could see his thoughts:

 

_He knows that I am aware of it that he has tried to kill me._

 

         Athos was the better swordsman - his grace and elegance a striking contrast with Rochefort’s heavy and clumsy moves - but suddenly to his friends’ astonishment Athos retreated himself. It wasn’t his fight anymore. Athos waited, the tip of his blade a few inches from Rochefort’s palpitating throat, his arm steady, and to his own astonishment he heard himself saying:

“Surrender.”

 

 _I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Surrender …_   _Aramis or d’Artagnan it should be them not me. I give this man too much power over me, if I kill him now. I won’t repeat this mistake. It’s not my fight but ours … one for all and all for one …_ Athos thought.

 

         But Rochefort didn’t listen to the words of the Lieutenant. Suddenly the four Musketeers circled him like dangerous wolves, each of them attacking him in turn. First Aramis, then Athos, now it was Porthos who took over, ready to protect Athos and worried about Aramis, who looked pale, some beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead. The big man thrust his sword with all his strength, all his rage, and when Rochefort tried to fight back, he used his fist. No rule, no honour, it was an execution.

 

_No honour, you don’t deserve to live. Aramis was right when he said one day we will have our chance and then we will fight against you without honour. My God Aramis looks pale. What has he done to you my friend, but Athos looks even paler … why hasn’t he killed him? He could have done it with one strike. He has the strength … why did he stop?_

 

         Athos heard the clashing of their swords and he tried to calm his thundering heartbeat, while he watched Porthos’ fierce fight. Rochefort drew back again. In a glimpse of an eye d’Artagnan searched Athos’ green eyes.

 

 _Permission to end this here and now._ D’Artagnan pleaded with his dark brown eyes and Athos answered with a soft nod: _Finish him, finish it, I can’t stand to see this monster any longer …_

 

         D’Artagnan nodded then he took over from Porthos who understood the young man’s gesture he made with his fingers at once, and took a step back. D’Artagnan started his endgame, sparks flashing with each hit, matching the fury in d’Artagnan’s eyes.

 

_You have killed so many innocent people and you nearly killed Athos, Aramis, Constance … the King … the Queen. You don’t deserve to live any longer. You are mine. God, I should have done this weeks ago … after we found out that you tried to kill Athos. This time I can’t follow your rule Athos … not this time … this time it is heart over head._

 

         And the young Gascon gave Rochefort his quietus. With all his force he jabbed his sword through Rochefort’s belly. The insane man stared at him confused, as if he had imagined himself invincible. As he realised that he was dying, d’Artagnan drew his sword out of his body. Rochefort now sat on the floor, back against the wall. Blood was trickling out of his mouth and d’Artagnan knew that is was Rochefort’s end. It amazed him, that he was still alive but at the same time it amazed him that, at last, he was really dying.

 

_I promised Athos to end this. I have to keep my vow. This man was a monster, a devil, as if Satan himself had sent him._

 

         He searched with his brown eyes the green eyes of his mentor. He noticed that Athos didn’t show any signs of satisfaction. His expression was blank as if he didn’t truly realise that at last, their enemy was dead, as if he expected him to rise again, like a devilish phoenix, and something else seemed to worry him: what was wrong with Aramis? Tréville had watched his men fighting against Rochefort. He had noticed the silent talk that was going on between them, taking care of each other, making sure they all helped to stop this evil man, finally. He looked over to Aramis.

 

 _Aramis, his shoulder is probably hurt, but he will survive. Athos?_ Concerned, he looked over to his Lieutenant who hadn’t killed Rochefort as he had had the chance to.

_Athos, I hope you are alright, you look tired, confused as if you can’t believe what’s going on. It’s over. Thank God. It’s finally over. D’Artagnan was right the time would come to stop him and today they have stopped him together. As brothers … taking good care of each other. I can’t stay I need to take Vargas away but I am proud of them … of all of them._

 

         As Vargas knelt down to talk to Rochefort Athos didn’t listen. He was not interested what the dying man had to say. It didn’t matter. His brothers mattered, the King and Queen. Athos waited until Vargas left with Captain Tréville. Constance rushed over to the Queen and both women left after Anne had ordered Aramis not to give the dead man any sign of dignity and allow him to close his eyes.

 

Now the four brothers were standing alone with Rochefort’s dead body in the room.

 

“Are you alright, Aramis?” Athos asked, while Porthos rushed over to his friend and pulled him in his well-known bear hug.

“I think I will be, when I get enough air. Porthos let me lose, will you, please.” Aramis gasped for air.

“I am so happy that you are alright. You are alright?” Porthos made several steps backwards from his friend and looked at Aramis, who was holding his right arm with his left hand.

“It will need some stitching, but I’ll live.” Aramis tried to smile, but he failed. The whole tension from the last hours felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders and the words that Rochefort had thrown at him earlier that he was responsible for the death of Adele and now Marguerite had hit him hard.  

 

_It’s over. I … I can’t stay with them … they all survived … they will be fine, but I need to go … I can’t endanger them any longer: Anne, my son, Athos, Porthos, d’Artagnan, even Tréville. Thank you. They are all safe. My arm hurts … but I will live and they live. I am in your debt. I have ignored your call much too long. Here I am and I will follow you. It breaks my heart, but it’s time for me to fulfill my vow just as d’Artagnan did. They never told me, but I knew, I knew that our young Gascon would bring this end to Rochefort._

 

         Aramis glanced over to Athos. His brother looked so lost, he really wanted to go over to him, but in this moment he felt Porthos’ strong palm on his back and a soft warm breath whispering in his ear, that they should go away. Leave this place of death. Out of his eye he could see that d’Artagnan already hurried over to Athos and he knew that his brother was in good hands. Athos felt d’Artagnan suddenly next to him. The young man laid his left arm around his shoulders and then whispered in his ear. Athos leaned into him, his strength leaving his body alongside with the tension which had kept him steady during the whole fight. He was a little astonished to suddenly feel so weak, but the fight had been an ordeal both physically and even more emotionally. Seeing Rochefort dead at his feet was like seeing the past lying there. By killing him, they had buried a past which had haunted him since that day he had been whipped by Rochefort and which had returned in a new intensity after he had collapsed in the courtyard after the sword fight with d’Artagnan when poison ran through his blood.

 

         Then realisation hit him: fighting against this Satan had drained the rest of his energy and he swayed dangerously. The firm grip of d’Artagnan around his shoulder kept him steady and stopped him from collapsing.

 

“I told you that I would stop him. Come let’s go. No need to stay any longer. It’s finally over.” D’Artagnan pulled his arm away as he felt that Athos had a firm stand again.

 

         But Athos needed longer than d’Artagnan to realise that it was finally over. He listened to the words of his brother, but the understanding of them and the whole situation had reached his mind but not his soul yet. He felt numb and lost. Athos turned to him and for a short moment d’Artagnan could see something glistening in his eyes. Athos didn’t say a word, but he needn’t, he knew Athos’ expression well enough.

 

“Let’s leave this place of death and terror.” Porthos boomed with his loud voice behind them.

 

         The gentle gesture between d’Artagnan and Athos hadn’t gone unnoticed by Porthos and Aramis, but neither asked what was happening. Now was not the time and they knew d’Artagnan would tell them sooner or later. While Porthos was guiding the injured Aramis out of the room, Athos followed after d’Artagnan. At the threshold of the door Athos paused and turned his head around. Slowly he took some steps back towards the dead corpse of Rochefort, but in the middle of the room he stopped. He didn’t want to go nearer than that to the man who had tried to kill him, and was now dead himself. He observed his surroundings to convince himself that it was really true,  he was finally safe now. Rochefort’s dead body was still resting where he had died. No page had dared to touch him yet.

_It’s over Athos … with him gone it’s finally over. You were lucky to survive … the poor doctor … he saved my life only to be murdered by the hand of this monster. The Queen is right Rochefort didn’t deserve any honour, any notice in the history books. It’s ridiculous that he really thought that the Queen had fallen in love with him … Rochefort you were caught in your own past and you didn’t realise that the past has nothing to do with the present or future …_

 

         Athos sighed out loud.

 

_With him dead I can finally leave my own past behind me …_

 

         When d’Artagnan noticed that Athos had stopped he returned to his mentor. Contrary to most times his face was readable to him, his eyes wide open, fighting obviously with his emotions. The green colour of his eyes looked more blue grey, while he tried to fight with tears which were welling up due to the fact that his nemesis was finally dead and he and his friends were all safe.  

 

_Athos, please, don’t. You have already shed too many tears. I can accept tears of joy, tears of relief, but I know that these tears are more bitter. Erase the past, don’t think about what you should or could have done. It’s over and I am proud of you and so happy. I wish I could express it, I wish you could express it._

 

“Come!” D’Artagnan’s voice sounded more authoritarian.

 

         Athos had heard him only once before speaking in this commanding tone, in the _Sainte-Chapelle_ as he was at his lowest and d’Artagnan simply was there for him. He felt D’Artagnan’s hand on his back, pushing him softly forwards and Athos thought:

 

_One day you will be the greatest of us all and I am grateful to call you my brother and friend. Thank you._

 

         One look between them both was enough for the younger man to understand perfectly what his big brother thought but couldn’t express, because he knew that his voice would betray him. Athos felt that d’Artagnan’s hand wandered up his back, landed on his right shoulder and the young man softly pulled him nearer to him so that for a second their heads softly touched. Then d’Artagnan allowed more space again because he knew that Athos needed the distance.

 

“I promised you, my brother.” With a sideway glance he smiled at Athos, waited for a moment until the greenish eyes met his brownish and then he quickened his pace so that they  could catch up with their brothers.

“Thank you, my brother!” Athos whispered and fell into the fast step of his young _protegé,_ warmth and peace filling his heart.

 

** THE END  
**

 

****

Emma

****

Kirasum

 

 

 

 


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